A Leap of Faith
by WhiteHare
Summary: When Richenda FitzEwan married Bran Coris she approached married life with great optimism. Why did things go wrong between them? And who was the mysterious grey eyed man she met at the shrine of Saint Torin?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : The Deryniverse and all its characters belong to Ms Katherine Kurtz. Where I have used actual dialogue from her books no breach of copyright is intended – it is just used to tie in to her creations and allow the events to be seen from Richenda's point of view.**

**All events not in the books Deryni Rising, Deryni Checkmate and High Deryni are purely speculative and my ideas of how things beyond the books may have occurred.**

**This fic contains *major* spoilers for the events of Deryni Checkmate and High Deryni.**

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><p><strong>Barony of Rheljan - <strong>**March to September 1116**

If you had asked me a few years ago what I imagined my husband would be like, my answer wouldn't have been much like the man I actually married.

Bran was handsome all right, and an earl to boot, but he fell short of my ideal man by some distance. He wasn't Deryni, for a start, so I would have to continue hiding my identity, not only from the world outside, but also from my husband.

And I didn't love him.

I had hoped for a love match, but from childhood I had known that an arranged marriage was a strong possibility. As girls my friends and I had giggled over our dreams for our futures, while knowing that in all likelihood that the best we could hope for was a marriage in which love would develop over time, or at least a comfortable companionship. My friends and I would not even be guaranteed spouses near us in age – many widowers looked for a second or even a third spouse, and plenty of young wives found themselves with stepchildren close to their own age, or even older. But the poetry I had studied at my aunt's court in Andelon had shown me true love and the heart's great passion, and I longed to experience that for myself.

So when my father told me that he had arranged for me to marry Bran Coris, the Earl of Marley, it looked like an attractive proposition. There had been disputes over some lands on the Marley borders, dating back to when Bran's father had been earl, maybe even before that, and I had even heard talk of taking the dispute to the king, so a marriage with those lands and a little more as my dowry neatly solved that problem. My father decided that it saved the risk of losing them altogether if the judgement went against him.

Actually, the match had much to recommend it. I would not be too far from my parents' home in Rheljan, so I would be able to see them occasionally, an earl was a good catch and as my father pointed out, the Earl of Marley was eminently suitable.

"He has been earl since he was eighteen, and he's ... what ... twenty, now. He is a fine military man and promising strategist, by all accounts. He has King Brion's favour, and has taken his father's place on the king's council. You may get to be presented at King Brion's court, Richenda."

Twenty years old, and a friend of the king! So no middle-aged widower for me, and the possibility of being presented at court made marriage an exciting prospect. The FitzEwans had been quietly loyal to the crown for generations, without any of them coming to any particular attention or advancement, although we had a good reason for that. My family stayed in the background, concealing our Deryni background and our abilities from any unwanted attention. So I while I had spent time in Andelon, I had not been to King Brion's court at Rhemuth, nor had any prospect of doing so, and marriage to Bran Coris promised me access to a world I had only dreamed of before.

"Have I met him, father?"

He narrowed his eyes in thought. "I don't think so. I know his father has visited before now, but I don't recall young Bran being with him. Bran visited not long after his father died, but you were in Andelon then. And I've never taken you to Marley with me, so no I don't think you have, unless maybe when you were children."

"What is he like?"

"He is comely enough I suppose, as far as I can judge these things. About my height, maybe a shade taller, brown hair... I don't know, Richenda. I haven't looked at him in the sort of way you mean. Though I can show you how he looked last time I visited Marley."

We slipped easily into rapport, and I viewed Bran through my father's eyes. I saw a tall man with dark hair, gold-flecked brown eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. Not merely comely but handsome, with a slight swagger to his walk and the confident air about him of one who has been born to privilege. He was slow to smile, but when he did smile it lit up his whole face – he had a nice mouth, I noticed.

He raised an eyebrow. "So, favourable first impressions?"

"At least I'll recognise him when I meet him," I smiled. "So when _do_ I get to meet him?"

"Well...ah... you may not, at least not until the wedding. Bran has to be in Rhemuth for the next while, but he is keen for the marriage to go ahead and has agreed it on the basis of your portrait. He has come into his inheritance much earlier than he expected, with his father dying so suddenly, and he is keen to ensure that there is a Coris heir for Marley as soon as possible, especially with the Torenth situation the way it is, and Bran likely to be in the thick of it when the time comes." He paused and then acknowledged the unease he must have been feeling from me, "I know it's not what you hoped for, my dear, but your mother and I think he will be a good choice for you."

And then I met my father's eyes and asked the question foremost in my mind. "Is he Deryni?"

He shook his head, his blue eyes kind and gentle as he dashed my hopes. "No, child. The Coris family are human through and through."

"Does he know we are Deryni?"

"No. I'm sorry, Richenda, you will have to keep our secret. But marrying into a family known to be human will help you conceal yourself. With your ancestry you can't afford to come under suspicion or things could go badly for you – for all of us. At least an earl's wife should have some protection if things get difficult for Deryni in Gwynedd again." He took my hand and spoke earnestly to convince me. "He's an ambitious young man, with the ability to match his aspirations and he could do well for himself."

I used mind speech frequently at home with my family, and was able to use such others of my powers as would not bring us under scrutiny, but I would have to shut off that part of me entirely if married to a human who was unaware that I was Deryni. Most of my unease came from wondering if I could learn to live that way, denying my abilities to conform to what my husband believed me to be?

I wondered if he were actively opposed to Deryni, or if he would turn out to be a man such as I might in due course entrust with my secret, and that of my family. I hoped so, but Gwynedd had few such people, even now, and I would not dare to tell him unless I could be completely sure that my parents and brothers and I would be safe.

"Bran being away until the wedding does mean that we get to have it here rather than in Marley, and you know how your mother hoped to have it here with Father Idris officiating. You can have Avisa and Leonora attend you if you want, and it will be lovely for all the townsfolk to be able to see you wed – you know how fond they all are of you."

True enough. I had hoped that I would be able to be wed in the abbey here, with the priest who had known me from babyhood to marry me. The wedding date had been set for a few months time in June, when the passing of the winter cold and spring rains should give us some more balmy days perfect for a wedding celebration.

My mother and I set to straight away preparing for the wedding. I had some of my trousseau already prepared, but my mother and her ladies went into a fever of sewing, and soon I had many beautifully stitched items to take to Marley with me.

Of course the most important item would be my wedding dress, and much debate ensued among the ladies as to which colour I should wear. My colouring favours my father's kin, with my red gold hair and blue eyes, so I naturally suit either blue or green, but many are against green for a wedding dress since much of the north views green as an unlucky colour. So we settled on cornflower blue silk to symbolise purity and I because I knew I could look stunning in the right shade of blue – I wanted to make a good first impression on Bran.

I had the final fitting a few days before the wedding and my mother cried when she saw me. The fine fabric swirled as I moved and I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. The dress had a wonderfully full skirt – heaven forbid that Bran would think we had skimped on the fabric – and it was more luxurious than anything I had worn before, even to court in Andelon. My new life promised to be so exciting, and I could hardly wait for it to start. Wife, Countess of Marley, and please God, a mother soon after.

As Father Idris performed the wedding ceremony and the Mass which followed, I studied the stained glass of Saint Gabriel in the apse, with his blue robe and his halo of light, so reminiscent of the Deryni aura. I had always loved this window and Gabriel had long been my favourite archangel, so I tried to fix it in my memory, committing all its details to heart. Gabriel is the guardian of the heart and the emotions and despite the demure exterior required of all ladies of rank I do still have my reckless moments. My father blamed it on my red hair, inherited from his side of the family and declared my impulsiveness would get me into trouble one day.

As I made my vows and celebrated the nuptial mass, I glanced cautiously at Bran and I prayed fervently that I might come to love the stranger kneeling beside me and that we would have a long and happy life together. If I had known then what would befall us, how different my prayers might have been.


	2. Chapter 2

**Marbury - ****June 1116 to September 1116**

I had been away from home before, to my aunt's court in Andelon, but then I had had family and friends around me. But when I left Rheljan I exchanged one world for another, for all I wasn't going far away. My preparation for this new role had been as thorough as possible, but I was still close to tears as I embraced my parents and my brothers and left my childhood home.

The servants gave us a good send off. They all came out to see me leave, some of them in tears themselves, as I had known many of them from babyhood. As we rode through the town many of the townsfolk came out to wave, some holding their children up high to see the soldiers, and the farm hands waved their hats as we rode past the fields.

The Marley bodyguard in formation accompanying us showed my new rank, and the blue and gold pennant flew proudly in the breeze.

I rode beside Bran on my beloved palfrey Willow, which had been a birthday present some years before and had already accompanied me to Andelon. Bran talked animatedly as we rode, telling me of Marley and its history, and his plans for the future. He assured me that his household, the ladies in particular, eagerly awaited their new mistress.

As we left the Rheljan Mountains behind us, the ride to Marley took us across rich farmland. The field hands at their haymaking nodded respectfully then leaned on their scythes for a time to watch us pass. Young children left their mothers to run the length of the fields, trying to match the pace of the horses and excited to see a company of soldiers pass by.

On either side of the road as we approached Marbury, Bran pointed out the hop fields and the oats growing and a mile or two out of town he showed me the drying houses and then the brewery. His pride at his land's industry was plain to see - "the Fianna of beers" he called it. "The smell of hops drying is quite agreeable, once you get used to it, but the smell from the malting can be strong at times. We situated the brewery to take account of the prevailing wind, so that the town itself doesn't get the smell too often." Indeed, just from the brief ride past I could tell that the odour would be quite unpleasant, if forced to endure it for too long.

The manor at Marbury proved to be a simple stone-built house, spacious enough for the family and retainers and with room to spare for the children that both we hoped for in due course. Bran introduced me to its workings straight away, so that I might take charge of the estates in his absence. I spent much time with Bran's seneschal, meeting all the staff and learning how the estate worked. I proved an apt pupil, picking up the details of the records and accounts quickly –at last I could see the point of those tedious hours with my father looking over the Rheljan accounts.

Bran and I rode out around the town often. The townsfolk always showed their pleasure at seeing us, and had an especial interest in me. They were obviously glad that their young lord had brought a wife home with him and I enjoyed the attention as they doffed their caps and bowed and curtseyed and called "God bless you My Lord. God bless My Lady". We often delighted the local innkeeper by stopping to sample the hospitality in his tavern. We occupied his most honoured place by the fire and he plied us with Coris light ale.

Bran would talk to the townsfolk when we visited the inn, and often word would get out that the lord was visiting and people would bring grievances to him. Many a lord would have turned them away, referring them to the correct way to bring their troubles to his attention, but he heard them out and did what he could there and then. I could see why Bran had made himself popular locally – he knew most of the people by name and they were devoted to their young earl.

Messengers went frequently between Rheljan and Marbury. I always had someone available to carry letters home – Bran made sure of that - and I managed to keep homesickness at bay. Not that I didn't miss my parents, of course – at first I missed them desperately – but I was so busy creating a household of my own, making sure that all ran smoothly and that Bran would be pleased with me, that I struggled to find time to stop and reflect on how I felt. And I _was_ happy, in the main, only slightly concerned by Bran's impatience for an heir. When I told him we were not to be blessed with a honeymoon baby he showed his anger, if only for a moment.

August saw Bran occupied in Rhemuth, so my parents visited briefly, to give me some support when left in Marley by myself for the first time, although all the staff knew their roles and needed little interference from me. The haymaking and silaging had finished, but it was harvest time, and I had to learn how to record the harvests so that taxes and tithes could be tallied at the end of the season. Bran might be away on campaigns for months at a time, and I had to prove myself capable to run the estates in his absence. So my mother was there when my courses arrived again and I knew that we were still not to be blessed with the longed-for heir to Marley.

"Richenda, darling, give yourself a chance. You are only married two months, child, and the more you worry the less likely it is to happen. You and Bran both just need to relax – it will happen when it will. You are so young yet, don't rush yourself. Not that I wouldn't love a grandchild to play with, mind."

"I know, but Bran so wants a son. Father said that was why he wanted the wedding arranged so quickly – to secure the succession for Marley. I think he will not be happy until he can announce an heir to his friends at Rhemuth."

"He'll just have to wait, then, won't he? It doesn't make him less of a man, or you less of a woman, if you don't catch right away. These things take time."

I loved having my mother with me and I was distraught when my parents left - Marbury became a lonely place with them gone. I had ladies in my household, of course, but none of them had become close to me so far, and I suspected from things that were whispered when they thought I didn't hear them that at least one of them had hoped to become the Lady of Marley herself.

Bran returned from Rhemuth in a thoroughly foul mood that the several days in the saddle had done nothing to dispel. The cause was "that bloody Deryni", the Duke of Corwyn, Alaric Morgan.

Morgan and King Brion were close friends, and Morgan sat with Bran on the king's council. Morgan was no friend of Bran's though - Bran disliked him and made no secret of it. He was little older than Bran, and Bran envied the high esteem in which Brion held him, and coveted his position at the king's side and at the head of his armies. Bran was proud of his military acumen and he and Morgan often locked horns over some detail of strategy. This time there had been some disagreement over some point or other in the council, as he told me over dinner that evening.

"And then - then, mark you, that damn man congratulates me on our wedding on the way out, and says that he is surprised to see me in Rhemuth so soon, as he would have expected me to want to stay longer with 'my lady wife'."

I held my tongue. Indeed it would have been nice for Bran to stay with me longer, to help me accustom myself to running the household with him present, and for us just to get used to being man and wife for a time. I couldn't help but wonder if the Duke had meant his comments kindly, rather than in the barbed way that Bran had interpreted them. But Bran hadn't finished yet.

"...all smiles and familiarity, as if I didn't know that he would rather I kept out of his way! He sticks to the king like fleas to a dog and he's as good as telling me to stay in Marley to keep me away from him." Bran poured himself another cup of ale and took a long draught from it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He had already had several, and I could tell that the drink was going to his head, as it was unlike him to use profanity in front of me.

"So anyway, the meeting resumes the next day, and we look at plans for the levies and where we need adjustments because of titles being awarded and so on, Brion then says he has an announcement to make and that his pet Deryni is being made Lord General of the King's Armies. Like he needs another damn title to go with the string of them he already has! Let's make him Lord High Everything and be done with it! It's just as well _he's_ unmarried yet – he'd only breed more Deryni brats."

The bread turned to sawdust in my mouth and I lost all appetite. I had kept our family's secret from Bran to protect my father and brothers, rather than from any specific worry about Bran and his attitude to Deryni. But now I knew I had to be doubly careful never to reveal myself - I dreaded to think what Bran's reaction would be if he found he had a Deryni wife.

From that moment, I vowed, I would be more careful still never to arouse Bran's suspicions. He must never know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Marbury - ****October 1116 – September 1117**

When I told Bran in October that I thought I was with child I think the whole household knew at the same time. He let out a massive whoop, and swept me up in his arms – a little uncomfortable for me as I was sick and tender – but I was pleased that I had made him so happy and hopeful that this could be the turning point for us.

For a time he was the model husband - he fetched and carried for me, bade my ladies take good care of me, and could hardly have been more caring. Despite the tiredness and the nausea, I think I had not been happier since our wedding. We would soon have a child of our own to bind our marriage and hopefully it would prove to be the longed-for heir to Marley. If anything was to bring us closer and cement our relationship, surely it would be this.

I sent word to Rheljan about the baby and received back a delighted and excited letter from my parents. When Bran handed it to me I sensed the tell tale tingle of magic, and took it to open privately so that I could read the message of loving support in the seal.

I tried to keep active, although I was largely confined to the manor and its immediate area. Bran would not hear of me riding, or even travelling by litter or by carriage, for fear of hurting the baby. I was frustrated by the restrictions, although I wouldn't have dreamed of breaking them, and threw myself into managing the estate. In truth I would not have travelled far over the winter anyway, but it meant that when Bran travelled to Rhemuth for Christmas court he went alone.

When winter released its grip and the first signs of spring were peeking through, I could feel the first flutterings of life inside me. Soon enough, my condition was clearly visible and I was being heartily kicked by the infant inside me. At times my belly would bulge as cramped limbs tried to stretch, and this made Bran even more convinced I carried a boy.

"As active as that must mean a son, surely, Richenda? A girl wouldn't kick like that, would she? It must be a boy, for certain."

We had settled on Brendan for a boy's name. My own name was a blend of both my parents' names and I had suggested Brendan as a combination of Bran's and my own. I knew by this stage that I did indeed carry a boy and Bran was reluctant to consider girls' names, so insistent was he that we were to have a son, but to disguise my foreknowledge I got Bran to agree to my grandmother's name of Ysabeau for a girl.

As the days passed my maid laced my dresses less and less tightly, until at last they strained at the seams. When I reached that stage we slept apart, for I was restless at night, finding it hard to get comfortable and Bran, always a light sleeper, complained of the disturbance. Brendan kicked a lot more at night than during the day, so I napped in the daytime, expecting to be kept awake at night. I was happy with this arrangement, preferring to sleep alone than disturb Bran, and I found myself many nights sitting watching the fire in the next door bedchamber and feeling our child move inside me.

As the time of my confinement approached, my mother came to stay in Marbury. I was grateful that she was there, having no close female friends of my own in Marley.

When my waters broke Bran summoned the midwife. The chamber had been cleaned and prepared and we retired there to await the arrival of my child. The curtains were closed and candles lit, and a fire was set even though the day was warm.

The cramps started a couple of hours later, not too bad at first, then more strongly as the day wore on. At first I walked up and down and cautiously tried to use my powers to relax myself to help with the discomfort, but soon I could not concentrate enough to do anything more than deep breathing, and before long even that was not enough. I ended up kneeling on the floor by the hearth, wrapped in a sheet and rocking to relieve the pain.

Now I found a major benefit to having a Deryni mother. No-one thought anything of it when she cradled me in her arms as the spasms hit me, each stronger than the one before, but she dulled the worst of it for me and helped calm me when I thought I couldn't bear it any longer. It was more than she had dared do in human company before, and I was thankful that it was something she could do with no outward show and minimal risk of exposure. She rocked with me, murmuring encouragement and crooning to me as I whimpered with the pain.

As my labour progressed, my ladies muttered prayers for a swift and safe delivery, but still I laboured well into the night. Just as the birds were awakening, and the sun was rising, the feeling changed and the midwife urged me to push my son into the world. I cried out as he emerged, knowing that the end was near, but that I was desperately tired.

"It's a boy, My Lady." The midwife wrapped a towel around my son and handed him to me. He was a hearty healthy babe, and I marvelled at his tiny fingers and toes, before putting him to the breast where he nuzzled happily until my final pains came. My mother came to my side and watched him, and the midwife satisfied herself that all was well and then went to find Bran, who was waiting outside for news. The other ladies withdrew to give us some time together.

"Ah, Richenda, he is perfect. He looks just like you did." My mother's eyes shone with tears as her grandson gripped her finger tightly.

"I hope he has brown eyes, like Bran's." Brendan already had a smudge of red hair, like mine and my father's, and I wanted Bran to see something of himself in the son he so desperately desired.

"Well, most babies start off with blue eyes, you know. And with that colouring, it wouldn't surprise me if they stayed that way."

When Brendan had fed, the midwife gently took my son from me to bath and swaddle him. The maids had brought in a tub and filled it with warm water – not too hot, for I was still faint. My mother helped me bathe, washing the blood and the sweat away, and then gave me a mug of caudle to sustain me after labouring through the night. She brushed out my hair and dressed me in a fresh night rail, ready for Bran to come in and see his son.

My mother and the ladies withdrew while Bran met our child. He was dishevelled and had evidently spent the night in the adjoining room, alternately pacing and trying to sleep in an armchair, but his face glowed as he saw his son.

"Richenda, it is a boy! I was sure it would be! Thank you, my darling. He shall be called Brendan, as we agreed. The next boy can be Ryan for my father, and the one after Richard, for yours. What do you say to that? Then both sides will be kept happy."

"Can I not have a daughter, my lord? Must I only bear boys?" I tried to keep my tone light and teasing, but I knew his views on the matter already.

"Women like little girls to dress up and teach pretty manners to, don't they?" He sounded less than enthusiastic at the thought, but I had provided him with a son and he was well disposed to be agreeable. "Yes, you may have your daughter, my dear, in due course. But I shall leave the choosing of girls' names to you. They are all too fancy for my tastes."

That night, my mother sat with me as I held my son and watched him sleep. He had only been born that morning and already I was worried for him. A child of mine was highly likely to be Deryni – how could I ever conceal _that_ from his father? I knew that any talents would take time to emerge and that I would have four or five years, maybe even more, before I would need to deceive Bran about Brendan, but how on earth would I manage to do it?

Could I tell yet if he was Deryni? Would there be clues I could pick up on, even now? I stroked my son's forehead, and reached out gently to him and found –

Pain. Bright. Hungry.

My hand drew back as if I had been burned. His mind was a churning mass of the most basic thoughts, wholly unlike the ordered minds I had touched before. My mother saw me start and confusion cross my face.

"Not yet, Richenda, he is too young yet." She put her hand on my arm.

"Tell me I haven't hurt him, mama. I didn't know...I didn't think."

"He will be fine. You just can't read much from his thoughts until they go beyond basic instincts, and they won't be very coherent for quite a while yet. And you certainly won't be able to tell if he is...like us...for a long time. Wait until he is three, maybe a little more, then you'll be able to check him now and then and see if you can detect shields forming. You may not be sure until he is much older, though."

My father arrived a few days later, to collect my mother and to meet his first grandchild. As they left for home, I held Brendan so my mother could see him as they rode away, and then went back inside the house with my beloved baby. Deryni or not, Brendan was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I was determined to be a good mother, and to try to raise Brendan myself as much as possible, to make Bran proud of me. But bearing Brendan had taken much of my strength, and Bran was soon in Rhemuth again, leaving me with the running of Marley. I struggled on, often with whispered asides from my ladies about obviously not being able to manage, and without a close friend of my own to confide in. Many nights I cried myself to sleep, if I slept at all, for Brendan was a fretful baby, and more than once I used my forbidden powers to make him sleep. His nurse did much for me, of course, and I loved Brendan with all my heart, and outwardly I remained the composed and capable Countess of Marley, but sometimes my responsibilities got on top of me and I wanted to go home and hide my face in my mother's skirts and have someone care for me instead.

It is a measure of how concerned Bran was that when he returned he sent straight to Rheljan for my mother. I cried on her shoulder when she came, and she could see right away how tired and depressed I was. She called in the physician, who gave me hops and lavender and camomile to put in my pillow to help me sleep, and a tea made with St John's wort. My mother sat with me while I ate, as left alone I would have eaten little, until as the days passed the bloom returned to my cheeks and I began to feel stronger again.

Shortly before my mother left to return to Rheljan I had cause to worry about her, in a strange turn around of our roles of nurse and patient. She was carrying Brendan upstairs to bed when suddenly she became breathless, and sat gasping at the top of the stairs. She laid Brendan on the floor, in case she fainted and dropped him, and tried to recover herself. I found her sitting there on the top step, and when I took her arm her pulse was racing. Maids helped me get her to her room, and I sat with her for a while, going into rapport with her to try to slow the pounding of her heart. After resting, she assured me she was better, and she certainly seemed to be, but I made her promise to consult her own physician when she got home. She had helped me to get better – it was my turn to be concerned about her.

Bran adored Brendan. He was a devoted father, even when Brendan was tiny, and many times I would find him at Brendan's bedside marvelling at our little son.

"He looks so like you, Richenda. Look at his eyes, they are so blue, and his hair is so like yours. Maybe next time you can make one that looks more like me, eh?"

That last comment had a barb to it. I was almost embarrassed at how much our son favoured me, although his hair was a shade or two darker, yet not as dark as his sire's. Bran would have liked a miniature of him, I was sure, and Brendan's eyes had stayed resolutely blue, but he was a beautiful child and we were both very proud of him. The next Earl of Marley could hardly have had two more devoted parents. It was a shame we were not yet more devoted to each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Marbury - ****August 1118 – November 1118**

Brendan was an active child, early to crawl and to walk – always wanting to be in the thick of whatever activity was taking place. Nothing left lying around was safe from him, and he enchanted the maids with his mischievous ways from only a few months old. He still favoured me, although as his features changed I fancied I could see a look of Bran about his nose and mouth – enough to prove him a Coris.

It was when he could walk and begin to talk that Bran began to enjoy him properly. Once when Brendan was fourteen months old and toddling steadily I entered the nursery to find Brendan riding on his father's back, holding a little wooden sword aloft and crowing happily. Bran was in more danger from the toy weapon than any imaginary foe, but he grinned sheepishly and said, "Look, Richenda, the future Earl of Marley begins his training." It was good to see the two of them playing together, and Brendan idolised his father. If he were ill or tired, though, it was me to whom he turned, and I knew he was my boy too, for all he loved his father dearly.

We visited Rheljan as often as we could, and my parents were besotted with their little grandson. During one of these visits, with Brendan about sixteen months old, I was shocked to see that my mother was still suffering periods of breathlessness and occasionally she would complain of tightness in her chest. At these times my father would go into rapport with her. If she panicked her breathing got more laboured, so he helped her to relax, and gradually the seizure would pass. I could tell she was getting worse – her skin had taken on a greyish hue instead of the healthy pink I remembered, and she had started to walk with a stoop, as if protecting herself from the tightness she kept expecting. I was distraught to see her that way – she looked old to me all of a sudden.

"Have the physicians seen her, Papa?" I could tell that my father was desperately anxious for her.

"Yes. They have her drinking peppermint tea and we are to add wild garlic to her food whenever possible but it isn't helping much." He shook his head wearily. "The attacks are coming closer together now, and each one takes more out of her – and me. She is enjoying having Brendan here, though. She is in better spirits than I have seen her in for a while."

"He is such a boisterous lad. He never sits still, and Bran encourages him – says he will get strong from running about. But Bran doesn't have to deal with him every day, and he wears poor Joan out, I'm sure."

"Your brother Murdo was just like that, and look at him now. As fine a man as you'd hope to see, and to be knighted next Christmas court." His shoulders slumped. "I hope your mother lives to see it."

"She's not that bad? Surely not?"

"I don't know, child. Each seizure that hits her I wonder if it will be the one that takes her away from me. I can't imagine that she'd be strong enough to travel to Rhemuth anyway, the way she is, but I don't know how she'd manage if I left her here. She is having her attacks more frequently now, and I just don't know if she would get through them without me here to help her. I just can't think what to do for the best. All the preparations are made for Murdo's knighting and I don't know how the king would look on it if we asked to postpone.

"I wish that you could be there -you've not managed a Christmas court yet, being unable to travel the first year and then Brendan being too small to travel such a long way the next. Do you think you could get there this year? Would Bran let Brendan travel now he's bigger, or could you leave him at Marbury for a while?"

"I'm sure Bran could arrange for me to come for Murdo's knighting, but I'm not sure that Joan would want to be left alone with Brendan. The poor dear, she has children and grandchildren aplenty, but I don't think she's had to deal with one quite as energetic as Brendan Coris before. I should have known he'd be like that – he kicked enough before he was born to serve as a warning, after all!"

"Ask Bran for me, will you? It would mean the world to us all. Especially if –'' his voice broke, but he gathered himself and carried on, "especially if it will be the last time we are all together."

A few weeks after that conversation came the letter that I had dreaded. My mother had had a massive seizure, and had died in my father's arms.

I was faced with a dilemma. My courses were late and I feared that if I told Bran that I thought I might be with child again that he would not let me return to Rheljan. I was prepared to take the risk rather than miss my own mother's funeral, so I delayed telling him. I did ride in a litter there, using Brendan and the inclement weather as an excuse, and that was a miserable experience. It was stuffy with the heavy winter curtains closed and the swaying made us both uncomfortable, but I had to go to say goodbye to my mother.

When I arrived I went alone into the room where she was laid out, to say my own farewells to her. I could see how much weight she had lost in her final few weeks. She looked thin and drawn, but serene, and I took what comfort I could from her being at peace now – I knew how much the attacks had taken out of both her and my father.

My father was lost without her, for they had grown to love each other dearly over the years, and we consoled each other as best we could. My brothers had returned home for the funeral, and they loved seeing their little nephew, who kept everyone entertained, but it was a hard time for us all.

On the morning of the funeral we knelt at the front of the church, each sunk in our own thoughts, and Brendan mercifully quiet for once. My father had his eyes fixed on the coffin in front of us, Murdo was resolutely studying the stained glass in the window, and William had sunk his head into his hands apparently in prayer. I held Brendan's hand tight, and Joan was on hand to take him outside if necessary. The manor staff and the locals had filled the back of the church to pay their own respects.

The procession approached, and the service began, with Father Idris again performed the rites of passage for the FitzEwan family. He had performed baptisms and a wedding already and now he was to bury one of us. The priest spoke the ritual phrases and we joined in automatically, shutting away the grief that we were all feeling, although my brothers and I gently sent tendrils of reassurance and togetherness to each other. My father remained resolutely shielded and none of us dared intrude in his grief to try to comfort him.

After the service, and once the coffin had been interred in the crypt, Father Idris remained behind with my father, offering such words of sympathy as he could, while my brothers and I mingled outside, speaking to people and thanking them for coming and hearing so many kind words about our mother. She had been well loved in Rheljan, and the people genuinely mourned her. Joan took Brendan to let him run off a bit of steam beyond the church precinct – he had been so good during the service that he deserved a run.

When we all got back to the manor house, we were all drained. The tension of the morning had taken it out of us, and we rested for a while until Murdo and William decided to release some of the stress with a ride. They asked if I would ride with them but I declined. They didn't know my secret yet, and thought it was because I had left Willow in Marley, so Murdo tried to convince me to come.

"Father bought a nice grey a few months ago – she's an easy ride – and of course there's mother's..."

Mother's horse. Yes, of course.

"No, I think I'll just stay here. Brendan is in a strange place, and if he needs me and I'm not here, I don't know if Joan will be able to calm him."

"Well, if you're sure."

The boys – men, I corrected myself – took themselves off to the stables and I went to find my father. As I had expected I found him sitting in one of the armchairs in his study, staring into the flames in the fireplace and nursing a goblet of wine. The door was half open, and I tapped gently on it. He raised his head, a bleak look in his eyes, but when he saw me a flicker of a smile crossed his face.

"Come in, Richenda. I was just thinking. Remembering."

I crossed the room quickly, and stood behind his chair, putting my hands on his shoulders.

"Oh Papa, I'm so sorry."

"Where are your brothers?"

"They've gone for a ride. I think they needed to blow some of the tension away."

"Good. They need to let it out. How is Brendan?"

"He's fine. He doesn't really understand what has happened. Joan has him, and he should be ready for a nap soon."

"And you?"

"I'll be fine, but I'm worried about you."

He took my hand and drew me round to sit on the arm of his chair.

"You look tired. Are you looking after yourself? Is Bran looking treating you well?

"Yes, Papa." I hesitated, wondering whether to tell him my news. "You remember we spoke about me going to see Murdo knighted?"

He brightened. "Yes, has Bran agreed? That would be wonderful."

"I'm afraid I may not be travelling this year, either." I confided in him. "I don't know for sure yet, but I feel the same way I did with Brendan –tired and needing to take a nap in the afternoon just to get through the day. So I think there may be another little Coris on the way."

His face lit up. "Well that's some good news in amongst the gloom, anyway. Murdo will be disappointed you'll miss it, but you'll just have to time your child-bearing better so you can be there for William."

I hoped that my news would give my father something to look forward to through that first winter without my mother. Murdo stayed at home with him, since it was only two months to his knighting, so I knew that Murdo was keeping a watchful eye on him and I was less worried than I might have been when I left Rheljan.

I told Bran of the baby a few days after I returned, and he raised his eyebrows at the timing, as if he knew what I had done, but he said nothing more. In truth, his excitement about another child overcame his suspicions that I had got the better of him in this, and he began looking forward to the birth of Ryan, for he was convinced that this would be another son.

When in due course this baby proved as active as Brendan had been, he became more sure, but I knew that this child would prove the undoing of his theory, for this was to be a daughter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Marbury - ****July 1119 to December 1120**

Our daughter was born in July. Bran was waiting outside as before, but even his smiles couldn't conceal how desperately saddened he was not to have another son, although I had known for some time that he was to be disappointed.

True to his word, Bran left the choice of names to me and I took a perverse pleasure in making the names as pretty and fancy as I chose. I had selected Rhiannon Ysabeau. Ysabeau had been my grandmother's name and I had always thought it beautiful. I chose Rhiannon both for its beauty and because Bran had got so used to thinking of our child as Ryan, that I thought Rhiannon might be an easy step to make to help him accept his new daughter. But when she was only two days old, Bran returned to Rhemuth. No doubt he accepted the congratulations of the lords and ladies at court, but I knew that to him Rhiannon was only a girl.

Only a girl or not, I enjoyed my daughter as I had not enjoyed Brendan at the same age. I was more relaxed this time around, and I did not have the great tiredness and sleepless nights that I had experienced after her brother's birth. She was a dainty little thing, so unlike my robust little man, who was now stomping round confidently and causing turmoil wherever he went. Brendan missed Bran greatly and each day he would sit the window for a time, watching for the blue and gold pennants of Marley returning. He would turn his little cherub's face up to mine and say:

"Papa come home?"

"Not today, darling" I hugged him close, loving the freshly washed smell of him. "No Papa today."

Whenever Bran returned he would scoop Brendan up and take him on his shoulders out to see the horses. He would put Brendan on the back of one of the ponies, despite my worries that he was too young.

"Brendan will be the greatest knight in all Gywnedd, won't you, Brendan?" and our son squealed with pleasure and held tight on the pony's mane. Thank heavens the pony was a placid thing, or the glorious career of the young lord of Marley might have come to an inglorious and premature end.

Over the next few months Bran was barely at home. King Brion was negotiating a new peace treaty with Wencit of Torenth, and Bran's presence as part of the King's Council was required at Rhemuth.

According to Bran, rumours were spreading around Rhemuth that Morgan planned to overthrow Brion and set himself on the throne of Gwynedd, possibly, so the rumours said, with the assistance of Wencit, a fellow Deryni. With trouble brewing on the Torenthi borders I thought this was mere anti-Deryni paranoia, but I heard plenty from Bran about his rival, and his rival's alleged ambitions. Bran was obviously letting his dislike for Morgan cloud his judgement. Then when Morgan disappeared from court, his whereabouts a mystery even to the other council members, Bran's suspicions were confirmed

"There you are, you see!" he announced triumphantly, "Brion is coming to his senses at last and getting that blasted Deryni out of his court. Though if he could get rid of him more permanently, that would make a lot of people sleep easier at night. I'd be happier if I knew where he was, though. He could be anywhere – off plotting with Wencit, even."

It was ridiculous of course, and I could hardly believe that Bran would believe such nonsense, but he was blinded by his own bad feelings for the man. I had never met Alaric Morgan, nor was likely to, unless I finally got to King Brion's court someday, but nothing I had heard about him, save that which came from Bran, suggested that he was anything but loyal to the king. The Morgans had been king's men for generations. Still, I supposed anyone might turn traitor if the rewards were high enough, however old and noble a family he came from.

"I wouldn't be in Morgan's shoes right now. The queen loathes him, and she and Loris hate the influence he has over Prince Kelson. They are worried that he is indoctrinating the lad in Deryni ways. Mark my words, Jehana and Loris between them will find a way to dislodge him. I'd love for Loris to get his hands on him - I'd pay good money to see Morgan burn. Serve the idiot right for going for his sword on me last time we were in Rhemuth."

"He did what?"

"Aye, if his precious friend the Earl of Kierney hadn't stepped between us we'd have seen who was the better man. I could have taken him you know. God willing I'll get the chance again."

I was more anxious than ever about discovery now. What was he capable of, should he discover that I was Deryni too? If he claimed that I had enchanted him, could he have me set aside? And if he did that, then not only would I be sent home in disgrace, but my family's fortunes could be ruined. We had concealed that we were Deryni for so long; I could not bear the thought that I could be our undoing. And despite Bran's insistence that Morgan was the closest thing to the Devil incarnate that Gywnedd had ever seen, I had a certain envy of him – he lived openly as Deryni where the rest of us could not, and I hoped that he could blaze a trail that others could follow. I hoped that Brendan could be as open, when he was grown. He had the first signs of shields already, so I knew that he was Deryni as I had hoped, but also feared.

In November, when Rhiannon was sixteen months old and captivating everyone as she toddled about the manor, and Brendan was a sturdy cub of nearly three and a half, everything was thrown into disarray.

King Brion died while out hunting, apparently of a heart attack, and idle tongues wagged that it had been by magic and that Morgan had been behind it. Prince Kelson, now King Kelson, recalled Morgan – it transpired that he had been commanding the Cardosa garrison - and the predicted move by Jehana and Loris to remove the Duke went ahead. Morgan was accused before council of heresy and treason and narrowly escaped with his life. Bran had supported Jehana and Loris against Morgan, and when their plan failed he worried that his star was waning. There had always been enmity between him and Morgan, but Bran had openly voted for Morgan's execution, and that would not easily be forgiven, either by Morgan or by his new king.

Then Kelson resisted a magical attack from the Shadowed One at his coronation. Bran's description afterwards told of Morgan, wounded in a duel, Kelson wielding Deryni magic, and doubt cast on the status of Morgan's cousin Duncan McLain – could he possibly be Deryni too? But far from Morgan being dislodged, his importance to the crown was more evident than ever.

Bran was morose at home, his influence with the king reduced since Kelson came to the throne, and his theories about Morgan apparently proven to be as nonsensical as I had thought. Kelson would never have survived against the Shadowed One unless Morgan had managed to awaken his Deryni talents, although from the stories of the coronation Kelson had been shown to have Deryni blood of his own.

That had led to more problems for me – Bran was staggered that Jehana was Deryni, and unfortunately her concealment for so long had raised the question in his mind of how many other Deryni might be at court without him realising it. I couldn't afford for him to become suspicious of me, and I was acutely aware of everything I said and did around him. He in contrast was scarcely aware of me at all, save in the bedchamber, spending his time at home hunting and drinking, and occasionally with Brendan, who still clearly adored him.

In early December, with Bran away at our manor near Dhassa, sorting out some problems that had come to light there, Rhiannon fell ill. She was running a temperature and nothing was bringing it down. I started off sponging her with cool water and trying to give her plenty to drink, but she was still fretful – she wasn't sleeping well and her appetite was bad. I managed to get some milk into her, but only a few mouthfuls and I was worried about her. When she had been ill for nearly three days I sent a messenger to carry a letter to Bran to come home.

I called in the local physician, who prescribed an infusion of yarrow for the fever, and more yarrow to put in a warm bath, but it did no good. She was sleeping more than usual and even when she was awake it was hard to get the infusion into her. Her fever continued, sometimes warmer and sometimes cooler, but it went on for days, and even bathing her in tepid water was not helping. I was beside myself and sent another messenger to find Bran and beg him to please come home.

At last the fever broke, but Rhiannon still ailed. She had scarcely eaten for several days, and had drunk a little, but not enough to help her to recover. I had hoped so much that when the fever passed my little girl would recover, but she just slipped deeper into her sickness.

The first messenger returned, with no sign of Bran. Rhiannon didn't know me now, and moaned and whimpered as she tossed and turned. I stayed in the nursery with her, eating and sleeping there, scarcely leaving the room at all, while Brendan was cared for by his nurse elsewhere in the manor. I was terrified that Brendan would fall sick too, but he remained resolutely healthy, and I watched him from the window as he careered about the garden, toy wooden sword in hand, playing at knights, blissfully unaware that his baby sister was fighting for her life. I had resorted to trying to get her to take water from a spoon, slipping a few drops past her lips and stroking her neck to get her to swallow, but it was so hard – even a spoonful took an eternity to get into her and I knew she wasn't getting enough.

Rhiannon was a strong child for all her slightness, but her pulse became fluttery and her breathing quick and shallow. I tried to support her in her breathing, and stabilise her heart, but it was hard to maintain a sufficient rapport with her – she was simply too young. I held her little hand as it became colder and colder. Even wrapped in blankets, her hands and feet grew cold, and she scarcely woke any more, just drifted from sleep to half sleep and back again. She had scarcely eaten, and her arms and legs grew thin as twigs.

At last the physician said he could do no more for her – to try to keep her warm and to try to give her plenty to drink, and only time would tell. The 'black tongue' he called it, and sure enough, her tongue darkened and swelled and she lapsed into unconsciousness. She died soon after, her little body giving up its fight. She fell asleep in my arms, my beautiful girl, and never woke up. And Bran still had not come home. I knew then that I would never forgive him for that as long as I lived.


	6. Chapter 6

**St Stephen's Cathedral, Marbury - ****December 18th 1120**

_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine - __Grant them eternal rest, O Lord._

I knelt at the front of the cathedral in Marbury, watching as the Bishop pronounced the ritual words over the tiny coffin containing so many of my hopes and dreams. Bran knelt to my left hand side, cold and silent in the chilly church. Brendan was between us, wrapped up warm in his winter cloak, wide-eyed and tearful after the events of the past few days. I closed my eyes and let the words wash over me.

ooooooooo

Bran had come home two days after Rhiannon died, too late despite the increasingly frantic letters I had sent over the days of her illness. I raved at him, barely knowing what I was saying.

"How could you have done that? Why didn't you come when I asked you to?"

"I was busy at Stonelyn – I couldn't get away."

"I needed you. Your daughter needed you."

"And what could I have done if you and the physician could do nothing? I'm no physician, Richenda, I couldn't have saved her."

"But you should have been here. You should at least have been here." The words tailed off into a choking sob, then stopped suddenly as I spotted a figure in the doorway.

"Brendan? What are you doing here?" And how much of that did you hear?

"I had a bad dream, mama."

"Where's Joan, darling? She can look after you."

"She went to fetch me a glass of milk, but I wanted Papa." He looked between us in confusion. "Are you sad? Is it because of Rhiannon?"

"Here, son, let me take you back to bed," Bran stepped forward and took Brendan by the hand. "You're cold, little man, here, let's get you wrapped up." He took a fur from the chair and wrapped it snugly round Brendan's shoulders. "Now, let's get you back. Joan will worry about you – you shouldn't wander off like that. Let's give mama some time to feel better, shall we?"

Damn the man! He'd escaped that one neatly. But I had no intention of letting him off that easily.

I called the maid and had her light the fire in the next room – the one in which I had slept when I was with child with Brendan – and make sure the bed was made up with fresh sheets. By the time Bran returned from settling Brendan and telling him a story I had moved in next door and he did not seek me out that night.

ooooooooo

I had dressed her in the white dress she had worn for All Saint's Day. Rhiannon wore a blue sash, for Marley, and my ladies had gathered viburnum flowers from the bushes in the garden. Few flowers bloom in Marley in winter, but the simplicity of the white flowers suited a child's coffin. Inside the coffin, I had put a lock of my hair and a lock of Brendan's tied together with a scrap of ribbon. More of me would be going into the crypt with her than just that lock of hair: she took the better part of my heart with her.

The tears rolled silently down my face. I had tried not to cry, fearing that it would be improper for the people of Marbury to see their mistress so, but the sounds of gentle weeping behind me were too much to bear. The townspeople had loved Rhiannon, with her red-gold curls and her mischievous giggle, and we had arranged to hold the service in the cathedral rather than our private chapel so that as many as wanted could come to pay their respects. But the unfairness of it - that they could mourn my daughter openly and I dare not – hurt so much that gradually the treacherous tears began to fall.

I reached out to draw Brendan close to me, wanting the comfort of my remaining child to hold, but I found Bran's arm already tight around his waist, and I drew my arm back, preferring to be alone. My father was beside me, and I could feel his comforting presence.

_Oh, Richenda, my darling girl, be strong._

_I don't know if I can, Papa. I hurt so much._

_I know, darling, but Brendan needs you._

No word of Bran, then. I wondered if my father had an inkling of how things stood between us. I had moved my belongings into the next door bedroom, and had no plans to return to Bran's bed for as long as I could manage to avoid it.

Bishop Ifor kept the service mercifully short, for there is not much to say about a life which barely spanned a year and a half. Bran lifted the little coffin to take it to its resting place, and soon dark earth fell on my baby girl.

Brendan had been frightened by so many adults in mourning, and didn't understand what was happening, so I had dared touch his mind to calm him, and he drowsed on and off through the service. His nurse came to return him to the nursery, but he held my hand and looked up at me – I must have looked a state to him, all tearstained and swollen-eyed.

"Is Rhiannon coming home soon?"

"No, darling, Rhiannon's not coming home."

When I returned to my room, I dismissed my ladies and cried until I finally slept. But as had often happened since her death, the dreams came. On those nights I woke suddenly, with the sound of her voice in my ears and tears streaming down my cheeks.

Bran made no mention of my flight from his bed, and let me be for a night or two. Then the following night as I readied for bed, he came to my room.

I dismissed my maids, who left exchanging uneasy glances with each other.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

His cheeks were flushed and I could smell the wine on his breath.

"Bran, our daughter died only days ago!"

"All the more reason then. We can't afford to just have Brendan. What if it had been Brendan instead of Rhiannon in that coffin?"

"I'd be feeling just the same as I am now, and you'd be feeling a lot worse. Let's face it, Rhiannon was expendable, wasn't she? She was only a girl. And Bran Coris needs sons to show off to his friends."

He raised his hand as if to strike me.

"Go on then," I said, "hit me if it will make you feel better."

He stared at me with rage in his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fist as he attempted to control his temper. His mouth thinned to a fine line, and I stood, shaking, as I tried to resist the temptation to throw myself at his feet and beg forgiveness. Everything I had just said had gone against what I had been taught, of subservience and obedience to my husband, but I forced myself to face him, and take the consequences.

After what seemed like forever, Bran turned on his heels and left, and I flung myself on my bed and trembled with the reaction to what I had just done. I could hardly believe he had not hit me – I had seen the rage in his eyes and his struggle to control himself. I knew how close it had been.

The following day, Bran was throwing things into his saddle bags when I passed his room on the way to the nursery.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to Rhemuth. I'm expected at Kelson's Christmas court and I'm obviously not wanted here. I won't ask if you will come with me, since I know the response I'll get." He slung the saddlebags over his shoulder then turned and looked at me, his eyes hard and cold. "And when I come home, you'd better be back in my bedchamber or I may not be as indulgent as I was last night. I'm your husband, Richenda, and that still counts for something."


	7. Chapter 7

**Marbury - ****January 1121 to February 1121**

I did return to our bedchamber, a few nights before Bran was due back from Rhemuth. I had been deeply shaken by our angry exchange before he left, and did a lot of thinking while he was away. I knew I could not refuse him when he got back, and the thought of what he might do if I hadn't returned to his bed scared me.

His reaction to my goading had worried me. I had thought that if I forced him to see that he was behaving like Rhiannon had meant nothing to him, that he might have denied it – even come to see that he did love her as much as Brendan, maybe want another daughter to fill the gap she had left. But as I replayed the argument in my head time after time, I could see no hint there that Bran had ever cared for her. He didn't even acknowledge that _I_ was grieving, far less show any sign that he might be.

So maybe I had better bear only sons then, I thought wretchedly to myself, if only I had a choice. I hardly dare give him another daughter if she would be as unwanted as Rhiannon. I remembered my close relationship with my own father and realised that it was not just Rhiannon who had missed out on a loving relationship – did Bran not realise what he was missing out on? I thought of my lovely blonde girl and remembered her giggles and curls and the feel of her arms around my neck and thought that at least I had a year and a half of happy memories of her, where Bran had scarce any at all.

I took Bran's place in Marbury at Twelfth Night as I had several times before, distributing alms to the poor at the Cathedral where Rhiannon had been laid to rest. Brendan accompanied me wrapped up in his winter cloak against the chill, learning his duties and shaking hands and bowing with great solemnity when called upon. All the memories of that place came flooding back – the trips to church as a couple and then as a family, Brendan's and Rhiannon's baptisms and then that painful funeral the week before Christmas. I was struggling to hold back the tears by the end, and I hoped no-one had noticed, although they probably would not have thought the worse of me if they had.

I had to get away. Marbury held too many memories now, and I needed to be gone from there for a while. The obvious place to flee to for a time was my father's house in Rheljan, but I could never go without Bran's permission – not even I was impulsive enough to risk something like that. The thought of Bran in a fury riding to Rheljan to reclaim me was too much to contemplate. The thought of him taking Brendan and leaving me rejected at my father's house worse still. But I had a sudden longing for home: to be with my father and brother Murdo. Suddenly it wasn't enough for me that Bran loved Brendan so much – I had a need to be with people who loved me too.

Bran too had obviously reflected on things while he was away. I had expected him to be unforgiving for what I had said to him before Christmas, and dreaded his arrival and the nights to follow. But when he did come to me it was without the anger that I had so badly feared, and I dared to hope that things might improve between us. That was life with Bran Coris, never knowing how my feelings – or his - would lie from one day to the next.

After Bran's return I left it a few days before asking about visiting Rheljan. He agreed that it was a good idea, but pointed out that winter travelling with a young child might not be easy, so it was left that I would go in a few weeks when the weather improved. For my part, the spring could not come fast enough. I needed to get away from Marbury, and I hoped that I would not fall with child again for then Bran would forbid me to travel. I wondered if I dared defy him again, if it came to that.

Bran would be away from home soon, potentially for several months, as Wencit of Torenth was again threatening our borders, and he would be required at the head of an army to help defend Gwynedd. Planning and provisioning of his men were his main concerns and I saw little of him. He was to hold Llyndruth Plain, at the foot of the Cardosa defile – a responsible task for a young commander, but location made him the obvious choice. Wencit was expected to make his move in the late spring or early summer, so Bran had his soldiers working hard together to ensure they were at peak fitness, and that all their equipment was well maintained and ready to go when the king sent for him.

The levies for Marley had been agreed long since, and Bran sent notices to the villages to let the nominated men know they would be required soon. Although most of Bran's army were regular soldiers, this campaign would need extra men as the threat from Torenth was so great and the attack could come at any of several points along the border. The campaign was likely to be prolonged, keeping the men away from families and livelihoods for several months. The timing of the call meant that spring sowing would likely be affected, and the men folk would be away for much of lambing and calving season, and Bran wanted to avoid the hardship that would follow later in the year if these essentials were disrupted.

We settled back into something approaching our normal routine. Bran spent as much time with Brendan as his duties would allow, and started teaching him to ride on a well-behaved pony called Streaky. Streaky was an old compliant chap, who looked after his novice rider well, and had been in the family a long time, judging from the affection with which Bran treated him. Riding on Streaky soon became Brendan's favourite thing to do, and was a useful bargaining chip sometimes when all other threats failed.

Then one day as February came to an end and I began to think of spring weather and the possibility of my trip to Rheljan, Bran came up with an alternative idea.

"I know you wanted to go to Rheljan, Richenda, but what about Stonelyn instead?"

Stonelyn was Bran's manor house near Dhassa. He visited only infrequently as it was out of the way for us, based as we were in Marley, and had been earmarked as Rhiannon's dowry. Bran had been there when Rhiannon fell ill, as he suspected that the estate wasn't being managed as well, or as honestly, as it might have been. I had visited only once since our marriage and remembered it as a pleasant place, set in woodland to the south of Lake Jashan.

"Why Stonelyn?"

"War is coming, Richenda, and I want you and Brendan safe. I don't imagine that Wencit would bother with Marley, at least to begin with, but if Gwynedd should fall then he will occupy even Marley eventually. Rheljan is much too close to Cardosa for comfort – I don't want Brendan to be anywhere near there when war comes. Kelson will be calling up every man he can into the levies, so Rheljan and Marley will be virtually undefended. I want you out of here before the fighting starts."

"We will have little enough protection in Stonelyn, and Wencit is more likely to head for Dhassa than for Marley. It's pretty much on the way to Rhemuth and he'd want to take the capital."

"I don't think even Wencit would sack a holy city, and Stonelyn is close enough to Dhassa that you could move into the city if things start to look bad. I'm sure your great-uncle Thomas would arrange apartments in the city for you, if you asked him."

Yes, my great-uncle Thomas Cardiel, who was Bishop of Dhassa. I was fond of him, although I saw him only rarely and had last seen him when Brendan was tiny. I knew that he and my mother had corresponded occasionally, and she had kept him up to date with the family happenings, but I didn't know whether my father had kept up the contact since my mother's death.

"Are there children at Stonelyn for Brendan to play with?"

"I think two or three, maybe a little older than him, but I'm sure he'll find plenty to do. It has nice grounds, you know, and he'll enjoy exploring. And when you move into Dhassa I'm sure you will find that many noble families will have had similar thoughts and moved women and children into the city so I doubt you will be short of company. Take Joan with you – Brendan is attached to her and it will help you settle him."

"If she is willing. I know she is looking forward to another grandchild coming soon, and I would not take her so far from home if she were reluctant to leave her daughter."

"As you will dear," he kissed me quickly on the forehead, "you know I leave domestic arrangements to you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Marbury and Rheljan - ****March 1121**

Bran wrote to my uncle Cardiel to let him know of our plans, and that I would be arriving at Stonelyn late in March. As a compromise, we arranged that Brendan and I should leave Marbury early in the month, and spend a few days with my family in Rheljan, before continuing down to Dhassa. It kept all sides happy and broke the journey somewhat, for I was not looking forward to such a long journey with Brendan in the carriage, even with Joan to entertain him.

A letter soon came back from Dhassa, in which Uncle Thomas looked forward to seeing me and the children, and asked us to visit him in late March, by which time he hoped we would be settled in Stonelyn and ready to pay him a visit.

Children? I could hardly believe it. So Uncle Thomas had obviously kept up the correspondence with my father long enough to know about Rhiannon, but no-one had thought to tell him of her death? Once again, I was amazed at just how thoughtless Bran could be. Why had he not mentioned Rhiannon's passing in his first letter? Now I was faced with either writing to Uncle Thomas to correct him, or turning up in Dhassa with one child and explaining to him then. Either way it would be awkward that no-one from the family had thought to tell him sooner for all he was a distant relation, and only by marriage, rather than by blood.

I decided that since it was three months since Rhiannon had died, it would add insult to injury to tell him by letter now. I would tell him in person when I saw him in Dhassa, no matter how painful that might be to me.

We made our planned stop in Rheljan and my father and Murdo were overjoyed to see us. They exclaimed over how big Brendan had got, of course, and made a big fuss of him. He had brought his toy wooden sword with him, an absolute essential for him, and Murdo play sparred with him for as long as he could spare, enjoying spending some time with his nephew.

I spent as much time as possible with my father and we dropped into the old familiar closeness straight away. Once I'd arrived he came to my old room and sat on the edge of the bed beside me.

"How are you bearing up, my darling?"

"I manage. Some days are better than others."

"I know how that feels."

I took his hand and we shared our memories of mother and Rhiannon together for a while. It meant so much to me to be able to do this. Not being able to mind link while in Marley was like having a sense taken away and I could only be my true self around my own family.

"How has Bran taken it?"

We were still in rapport when my father asked me that, and although I brought my shields up to hide that part of my thoughts as fast as I could manage, my father caught a glimpse of what had happened over the past four months, and drew in a sharp breath.

"Richenda, I'm sorry. I knew things weren't perfect for you, but I hoped they'd work out in time. Is he ... does he ... take good care of you?"

"Bran loves Brendan. He's a good father to him."

"That's not what I asked, and you know it. I truly did think he would be a good husband for you, Richenda, child. We only wanted you to be happy."

"I know, Papa. It's no-one's fault. He just doesn't ... want the same things I do. I suppose I wanted what you and mama had, and Bran just isn't equipped to offer me that. I'm not unhappy. He cares for me in his own way, and I haven't had women turning up at my door with Coris by-blows, so as far as I know he is faithful to me, and if he isn't he's discreet about it." I suddenly became awkward, to be talking like this to my father, so I smiled and squeezed his hand. "I'm fine, Papa. I'm doing just fine."

That night, back in my old room, I slept more peacefully than I had for ages, and I thought I had left some of my troubles in Marley. But on the third night the nightmares came again. Rhiannon calling for me, as she always did. "Mama! Mama!"

"Rhiannon!" And I was awake and sobbing into my pillow. The door quietly opened and a figure slipped in, a candle lighting his way. His familiar arms wrapped tight around me.

"Hush, Richenda, darling. Hush, my child."

I turned my face into my father's chest and let the pain of the last few months flood out of me. It felt so nice to be held tight, and he poured every calming and reassuring thought my way that he could. It was like being a child again, and I clung to him as I had done when I was small.

"Oh, Papa. I miss her so much."

We didn't speak of what had passed between us for the rest of my stay, and to the best of my knowledge Murdo remained blissfully ignorant of it. The truth of the matter was that nobody could do anything: I was Bran's wife and therefore his property and all my father could do was watch from the outside and hope. For my part, as long as Brendan was happy and well cared-for I could put up with a lot for myself. I had known from the outset that arranged marriages didn't always work. I had hoped for love, would have liked friendship and now was resigned to a distant tolerance. As long as I made myself available for him, Bran didn't look too far beyond that.

The journey down to Dhassa was long and tedious. At least travelling in March we did not have the heat to contend with, but we were all relieved to see Stonelyn. It was smaller than the manor in

Marbury, but perfectly adequate for our needs, and with none of Marbury's unpleasant associations.

Bran had made a start on checking the workings of the Stonelyn estate when he visited before Christmas, but before that he had been absent for a long time, and quite prepared to take the reports of the steward at face value. Some of the servants had become lax and I strongly suspected that the accounts were being altered to allow extra income for some of the higher-placed staff. As the steward and his fellows realised that I was checking the books, the accounting became more rigorous, and a few staff being removed from their positions made the others more attentive to their duties. At least, I thought, I can now justify being here rather than in Marley, where we had excellent staff who would look after the estates admirably in my absence.

Brendan thrived in Stonelyn. Being that bit further south, spring had some earlier than we were used to, and he loved being able to get outside frequently, running around with some new playmates and exploring the barns and gardens of Stonelyn. He missed Bran, though, and his riding lessons had to be put on hold for the time being, as I trusted no-one enough at Stonelyn to have them continue to teach him. I knew if I let someone other than Bran teach him and Brendan fell into bad habits, that Bran would be unhappier than if he hadn't ridden at all.

Brendan was excited when messengers came from Marley, and eagerly asked after his father, but little in Bran's letters interested a small boy – or me. He spoke of preparations for war, and before long his letters came not from Marbury, but from Llyndruth Plain where he was encamped with his soldiers and the Marley levies. I was pleased to be able to send him back assurances that Stonelyn was getting back on a firm footing and that any hint of money being leeched from the estate was being seen to – at least I could be of use that way and put his mind at rest about this, at least, on the eve of war.


	9. Chapter 9

**Shrine of St Torin - ****March 28th, 1121**

We had been in Stonelyn a fortnight, and time had flown by so busy had we been, when we made preparations for our first big trip to the city of Dhassa. Bran had sent us south with a dozen or so mounted soldiers as an escort and they were to travel with us. Brendan was excited – he had rarely been anywhere bigger than the manors or his grandfather's house, and he could remember nothing of my Uncle Thomas. He told everyone that he was going to see the "big priest" and I think everyone in Stonelyn must have formed the impression that Thomas Cardiel was a bishop of remarkable height.

We intended to set off mid-morning and return in the early evening, so I decided to leave Joan in Stonelyn for the day. I could handle Brendan for those few hours, and Uncle Thomas would be sure to want to spend time with him – at least I hoped he would - I wasn't sure a bishop would be too familiar with entertaining four year old boys. Anyway, it would be more comfortable with just the two of us in the carriage as Brendan would have more room to spread himself and move around. Our route to the shrine of Saint Torin and then along the lakeside to Dhassa, I thought, would give Brendan plenty to look at to keep him entertained along the way. The final stretch into Dhassa itself might be a little less interesting, but I counted on there being comings and goings of soldiers and priests and tradesmen to draw his attention.

It seemed to have rained on and off for days, and the horses and men were mud splattered before we had travelled any distance at all. We rattled on with the roads, such as they were, getting muddier and more rutted as we went on. Somehow Brendan had been able to fall asleep against me, the motion of the coach lulling him off despite the bumps, although many a time I thought he surely must wake up when the coach made a particularly large lurch.

Suddenly the carriage jolted as a rear wheel went into a pothole, reeling as if it might overturn before it juddered to a halt. The coachman muttered curses under his breath as he encouraged the horses to pull harder, but to no avail. I heard the sound of trotting hooves as the captain of the outriders rode back to see what had befallen us and then I heard the coachman raise his voice "An' I tell you it's no use, we are well an' truly stuck this time. The more the horses pull, the deeper in the wheel goes. I could whip those beasts till the blood runs an' they will not pull the carriage out of this hole. An' if the whole carriage tips over then we are in a right to-do and no mistake with 'er ladyship and the young master in there. This will take pushing out, you mark my words."

The raised voices woke Brendan where the bumps and shocks had not, and he looked blearily around him for a few moments.

"It's all right, darling, the coach is stuck, but we will be off to see Uncle Thomas again soon. Stay sitting down, sweetheart - there might be a big bump when we set off again, and if you fall off the seat you will hurt yourself."

I peeped through a gap in the curtain to see the coachman and the captain standing beside the rear wheel which was the cause of our difficulties, and indulging in much discussion and arm-waving. We had stopped outside the shrine of Saint Torin, where several men were waiting ready to go in and receive the cap badge which denoted a respectful pilgrim who had duly parted with money for the right to enter the city of Dhassa. A couple of them were sitting on a low wall awaiting their turn to enter, and several more were making ready to leave. They were watching our little scene curiously, and apparently realised that they were about to be forced into service.

"You there. Come and give a hand with her ladyship's carriage."

Exchanging glances, the men ambled across to the carriage, some shedding cloaks as they came, for easier movement. One of the men pressed into labour stood out to me. Although taller than the others he was otherwise outwardly unremarkable, clad as he was in a leather cloak with leather cap unclasped but still pulled down firmly on his head, shabby trousers and muddy boots - typical garb for a common man. Still something was not quite right about him, and as he walked towards the carriage that feeling of not-rightness persisted and I watched him in particular from behind the curtain.

Truth reading is one of the most useful Deryni talents as it allows us to tell if a person speaks truth or falsehood. It was as if I was truth-reading this man, but it was his movements and not his words that I studied and found untruthful. He was lighter on his feet than might be expected for a man of his height, and certainly more poised than any commoner. The buzz of a lie started sounding in my head.

"When I give the words, give the horses their heads and a little whip, and you men push. Ready, driver? Now go!"

The carriage leaned forward, trembled for a moment, and then settled back into the mud again. "And again, but harder this time!" he shouted again, and this time I could hear the grunts of exertion as the men braced themselves against the carriage and pushed all the more. The carriage creaked under the strain, and the coachman shouted encouragement at the horses as they strained against their harnesses. All braced themselves for one more effort and then, just when it seemed that we would settle into the mud again, the wood squealed and the wheels found some traction, the horses found their feet, and the carriage lurched forwards a few yards to rest on solid ground.

"Her ladyship's thanks to you all."

I could see several men standing bent over, hands on their knees, recovering their breath, while others wiped muddy hands on almost as muddy clothes. After all their effort expended on my behalf it would have been churlish to drive off without even showing my face, and I confess I wanted to see the man in the leather cap face to face. So on impulse I said, "And her ladyship wants to add her personal thanks." I leaned from the carriage window and found myself looking almost straight at him. Clear grey eyes met mine, twinkling as if amused at something, and I was suddenly filled with confusion.

As if I had imagined it, the man dropped his gaze and shuffled his way into an awkward bow.

"It is the pleasure of Alain the hunter to serve you, my lady."

Every instinct told me that whoever he might be, he wasn't Alain the hunter. I smiled to myself thinking that if he were pretending to be one of the common folk he had got more than he bargained for, and at that point he looked up and met my gaze again, and returned me smile for smile. Oh merciful heavens! That look almost turned my head and a flush rose unbidden to my cheeks. My first port of call in the city was evidently to be to a priest, to confess my sudden unseemly thoughts about a tall handsome stranger on the Dhassa road. No shortage of priests in Dhassa before a convocation of the Curia, at least!

The captain laid the tip of his riding crop against the man's shoulder, the threat plain to see. He jutted his chin in the direction of the shrine.

"That will be all, hunter. Her ladyship is impatient to be off."

"Certainly, good sir. God speed her ladyship."

He backed away, but looked directly at me again as he did so. The brazenness of the man, to hold my gaze so! This was certainly no commoner – he would never have dared.

"Are we going yet, mummy? Can I see the big hole?" and Brendan popped his head out of the window beside mine."

"Get back on your seat, sweetheart. We'll be off again in a moment, when the outriders get going."

I risked one more glance at 'Alain' who was looking thoughtfully in our direction, and then settled back into my seat. But the rest of the journey was haunted by the memory of those grey eyes, and I could not help but wonder about him for the remainder of the way to Dhassa.


	10. Chapter 10

**City of Dhassa - ****March 28th, 1121**

We arrived in Dhassa in steady rain and to the occasional rumble of thunder, to find the city in a fair state of turmoil. People were milling around, soldiers riding out of the city gates, and the word on everyone's lips was that Saint Torin's was on fire. I was stunned: there had been no sign of fire when we had driven past. Sure enough, as we looked back the way we had come we could see a black plume rising from beyond the horizon, and as the wind shifted slightly we caught a faint smell of wood smoke on the breeze.

A man in black ecclesiastical garb approached. "Countess Richenda? I am Monsignor O'Sullivan. Bishop Cardiel asked me to await your arrival. He regrets that he cannot receive you in person, as he had planned, but as you can see," he waved an arm to encompass the confusion, "we have an emergency at the shrine of Saint Torin. A rider has arrived from the shrine in great haste, and apparently the shrine is ablaze. Bishop Cardiel is arranging for troops to be sent out to investigate and to put out the fire, if possible. I dare say he may be busy for most of the afternoon, but I will arrange for refreshments to be sent to your rooms and I'll let him know that you have arrived safely."

"Thank you, Monsignor, we heard about the fire on our way in. Was anyone hurt? Do you know how it happened?"

"Unfortunately, madam, several men have been killed, but I am unsure of the exact circumstances as yet. It is all most regrettable. Saint Torin's had many unique features and the craftsmanship was remarkable. If it has been lost..." He shook his head sadly. "But if you would care to accompany me, my lady, I will see that you are comfortable and I may be able to bring you more news as reports come in."

As we crossed the courtyard, Monsignor O'Sullivan told me that my uncle had arranged guest accommodation for Brendan and me, since he was currently arranging the expeditions to Saint Torin's from his own quarters, and he was hoping to interview eye witnesses later that day, to try to establish the cause of the fire.

"Bishop Cardiel greatly fears that the road at Saint Torin's will be impassable, at least for the rest of the day, because of the soldiers coming and going, and casualties being brought to the city. He recommends that you and your children – uh, child - stay overnight in the guest apartments."

If that was acceptable to us, Monsignor O'Sullivan said, he would arrange for a messenger to ride to the manor to let them know we had been detained, in case they heard of the fire and worried for our safety. A single rider might get through where a carriage and outriders would not.

The rooms were small but comfortably appointed, and Brendan had soon explored every inch of them. The promised refreshments kept him happy for a while, and I was grateful for them, for I hadn't realised how hungry I had become during the time on the road. Unfortunately, Brendan is not easy to keep occupied at best, as he has a lively and inquisitive mind, and a body that rarely comes to rest except to sleep, so an empty guest apartment with no entertainment became a prison for him in very short order. We settled for opening the window, which overlooked the main courtyard, and seeing what we could see.

Of course soldiers and horses are always exciting to a four year old boy, and plenty of those milled around outside. We counted soldiers and spied horses of different colours, and tried to see as many different banners and heraldic devices as possible. We watched our carriage being rolled out of the way into the stable block, and as many other diversions as I could come up with to keep him entertained. Beyond the horizon, the plume of smoke continued to climb skyward, despite the persistent rain that now fell. There would be little of Saint Torin's still standing when the fire had burned itself out, it seemed.

In the middle of the afternoon, those that had observed the happenings began to arrive: some riding, two seriously injured soldiers in litters, and then much later some commoners on foot. Among the first to arrive on horseback was a man in clerical garb, covered in blood and mud, yet shouting furiously at the soldiers attending him and demanding to be taken to Bishop Cardiel straight away.

We could not make out his words from our window vantage point, but he was greatly agitated and shouted a great deal as he was led inside.

As each group of arrivals came, I scanned them for 'Alain'. He had been at Saint Torin's to receive his pilgrim medal to gain entry to the city, so he would have been expecting to arrive in Dhassa during the afternoon or possibly early evening. Surely the pilgrims would not be refused entry to the city without a medal, in the circumstances? Of course it was highly likely that any able-bodied men in the vicinity had been drafted in to fight the fire and stop it spreading to the surrounding woods, so likely he was still dousing the fire or clearing debris.

Some time later, a cart came through the gate. It was accompanied by some of the soldiers we had seen heading for Saint Torin's as we arrived, and had a load in the back roughly covered with sacks and cloaks. With a sudden presentiment of what the cargo would prove to be, I sent Brendan away from the window to get himself a drink and an apple and then watched with horrified fascination as the first body was unloaded and taken inside. Impossible to tell from this distance, and one muddy cloak looked like another, so I couldn't tell if it was the leather cloak I had seen at the shrine. The thought that one of the bodies might be the charming maybe-hunter left me sickened, and I turned away from the window, unable to watch the rest being unloaded.

As the afternoon wore on, dribs and drabs of soldiers and others started to file wearily through the city gates. Monsignor O'Sullivan visited us in the late afternoon, full of apologies from my uncle.

"He regrets greatly not having been able to see you, my lady," he murmured "but he has been interviewing people who were present at the shrine today. As we feared, there were several deaths and he is piecing together an account of what exactly happened."

"Were they trapped in the fire, then, the men who were lost?" I shuddered - how terrible, to die by fire.

"Ah, no, actually. Some sort of fight broke out in a room adjacent to the shrine. The casualties appear to have been involved in that, but I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to reveal at this time. You'll forgive me if I am vague, but Bishop Cardiel wishes to be certain that he knows the details before any news is released. I am sure that the guilty will be named and brought to justice in due course, though."

"The guilty? So it was deliberate then? The fire was started on purpose, by whoever killed those men in the fight?"

"Yes, my lady, but maybe Bishop Cardiel can tell you more later, as he asks that you join him for an early dinner tonight. He has to celebrate Compline and then another ceremony after, so it must needs be a briefer meeting than he would like, I'm afraid. He has a nurse arranged to attend to Master Brendan, if that is agreeable to you. "

"Please thank him kindly for me, Monsignor O'Sullivan. I shall accept most gladly."

"I believe he can arrange a lady's maid for you also, my lady, should you require her services."

"Thank you, Monsignor. This is a little embarrassing, but if you might be able to find nightwear for us, I would appreciate it. We did not expect this delay when we set out, and we are unprepared, I'm afraid."

"Of course, my lady. I will see to it. The messenger who was sent to take word to your manor was instructed to bring back such items as your ladyship's maids thought you might need for an overnight stay, so I shall see that they are delivered as soon as he returns, but I shall certainly see that nightwear is provided, in case the road at Saint Torin's is impassable." He bowed and excused himself, closing the door gently behind him. I had to smile at the thought of the worthy cleric searching Dhassa for nightwear suitable for a lady and a four year old boy, but true to his word the items were brought by a maid a short while later, together with a brief apologetic note from my uncle. It was not in his usual precise script, but written hastily and smudged in places: most unlike him.

The sun started to sink, staining the sky with red and orange in a wicked parody of the flames that had danced through Saint Torin's that day. The city gates were left open later than usual, to allow the soldiers and pilgrims to stumble wearily in and to find their way to lodgings for the night. Shortly before sunset, Monsignor O'Sullivan arrived to escort me to my Uncle's apartments. Brendan was already bathed and tucked up in bed in his borrowed nightgown, so I quickly kissed him goodnight, and then allowed the Monsignor to lead the way.


	11. Chapter 11

**City of Dhassa - ****March 28th-29th, 1121**

My Uncle Cardiel looked tired when I arrived at his apartments. He opened his arms to me and we exchanged kisses and a brief, but warm embrace.

"Richenda, my dear. How lovely to see you. I am so sorry that you have been left alone today: not the best visit to Dhassa and your old uncle, eh?"

"Please, uncle, don't worry. Brendan and I have kept ourselves entertained watching the comings and goings, and the time has passed quite quickly, honestly. I'm just pleased to be able to see you now, although I believe you have another official appointment still to keep."

His face clouded briefly. "Yes, I'm afraid I have, and not a pleasant one, either. But you only brought Brendan, then? Is Rhiannon left at the manor house? You must be worried about her, you poor girl."

Ah, yes, the letter. I had wanted to tell my uncle in person, rather than in writing, but now it came to it, it was so hard to explain. Even these months later I missed her no less, and tears sprang into my eyes as I gave him the news.

"Uncle, Rhiannon isn't at the manor. She died, just before Christmas. I'm sorry you didn't know, that was terrible of us. You should have been told."

He gently laid a hand on my arm.

"Ah, Richenda. I'm so sorry. I didn't think ... I mean, when you only said Brendan I thought Rhiannon was maybe too small to come visiting. How thoughtless of me."

I bowed my head to conceal the effort I was making to keep my features composed.

"Don't worry." I whispered. "I only thought ... I assumed everyone had heard by now. That's partly why I'm here. Everywhere I went in Marbury reminded me of her. I had to get away. And Bran wanted me away from Marley in case war came and Brendan and I were in danger there."

He took my hand, and that spoke more sympathy to me than words could. A few moments passed in silence, and then he said, "Marley is further north than I would expect Wencit to venture, but Bran is quite the military man, and if he says you should seek safety in Dhassa I'd be inclined to listen to him."

"Indeed, he seems to be held in high regard by King Kelson." I agreed.

"Our young King needs all the good men around him that he can muster at the moment. And I fear ... I fear that today's happenings will be a dreadful blow to him."

"Today's happenings? You mean the fire at the shrine of Saint Torin? How can that affect the King, Uncle Thomas?"

At that moment a knock sounded at the door, and servants entered with trays of food and a flagon of wine. They laid the trays on the table and set the food out for us, and then my uncle waved them away.

"We can do the rest. No, even a bishop and a countess can serve themselves when they must. Thank you, you may go."

We settled at the table and fell to. Certainly the Bishop of Dhassa did not want for good food, if this was representative of his usual repasts. He poured me a cup of wine.

"Just in case you are worried, I can assure you that this is not Dhassa wine. All the stories you have heard about Dhassa wine are correct. In fact they are probably understated. It is the most wretched brew you have ever tasted." He raised his goblet to me, "This however, is rather nice. Not Fianna, admittedly, but a respectable substitute."

"Uncle, you said the King was in trouble because of what happened today?"

Suddenly my uncle looked older and more tired than usual. "What have you heard of the day's events?"

"Only what Monsignor O'Sullivan told me. That the shrine to Saint Torin had been burned down, deliberately, he said, and that several men had been killed and injured in some sort of fight there. He said that you had heard accounts from people who had witnessed the events, and that the guilty would be brought to justice. So do you know what happened?"

"I have heard one side of the story, my dear. In the circumstances I dare say I may hear the other side in due course."

He briefly turned to his food to eat a bare mouthful or two, and then pushed his food around a little with his eating knife - whatever had transpired that day had left him with little appetite. After a few moments he sighed and his shoulders relaxed. He had evidently decided to trust me with the story.

"Have you heard of Alaric Morgan, the Duke of Corwyn?"

"Of course, Bran has spoken of him. He and Bran don't always see eye to eye." I hoped I didn't look as uncomfortable as I felt – that was an understatement, to say the least.

My uncle smiled wearily. "Don't worry, Richenda, Morgan inspires strong emotion in people - few people are truly neutral where he is concerned. Mainly since he is Deryni, of course, but also because he is so uncompromising. He takes the stance that you can hate him or you can love him, but you will never ignore him. Our young King loves him, of course, but Bran is by no means the only one who hates him. He has done something today which will give his detractors plenty of ammunition, for it appears that it was Morgan who burned down the shrine."

If he had said that Saint Michael himself had started the fire with his burning sword, I could hardly have been more surprised.

"Alaric Morgan? But why? What ever would he do that for?"

"Morgan was captured at St Torin's. Warin de Grey and his men were holding him – planning to burn him at the stake, from what I've heard. He was rescued by his cousin, Duncan McLain, and the pair fought their way out, with the shrine being set alight in the process." He winced, thinking of the destruction of the shrine. "Well, it was all wood, you know, and despite all the rain we have had recently, it went up like tinder."

"How did they capture him? I was led to believe that Morgan had certain... resources... at his disposal." From what I had heard of him he wouldn't have gone down without a fight, at any rate.

"I believe that a drug was involved that incapacitates Deryni. He would almost certainly have perished without his cousin's intervention but unfortunately that has left Monsignor McLain's own position somewhat compromised."

Merasha. I suppressed a shudder. "Did he burn it down deliberately?"

"That I don't know, but he was still instrumental in its destruction. And he and McLain did kill five or six of Warin's men in a holy place and another man will never walk without a stick again, if he even keeps his leg. In fact, that is why I cannot linger with you tonight. The Curia will excommunicate the two of them tonight after Compline. I fear this may make things hard for Kelson, though. He will struggle to defeat Wencit without his Lord General. And as things stand in Corwyn he may find himself with rebellion there, as well as Wencit to deal with." My uncle sighed heavily and rubbed a weary hand across his forehead, then took another piece of meat and ate it with apparent reluctance, before pushing the trencher away. "I had hoped that Morgan would make his way to Dhassa to try to make his peace with the Curia, and I wonder if that was his intention today. If it was, it went disastrously wrong for all of us."

I had suddenly lost my appetite too. Alaric Morgan and his cousin would not travel to Dhassa alone, surely. He must have had some of his men disguised as pilgrims outside the shrine keeping watch and I would wager that my courtly hunter was a Corwyn knight attending his Duke. I wondered if he had been in the fight to free Morgan and McLain. My uncle had said that the dead men had been soldiers of Warin de Grey, so I could hope that he had escaped the fray, and was maybe now with Morgan and McLain as they fled – where? To the King? To Corwyn? Would my knight remain with his Duke once excommunication fell upon him, or would he desert him as the church would require him to do?

Uncle Cardiel noticed my sudden pensive mood.

"I am sorry, my dear. This is no conversation for a young lady. I will try to be better company on your next visit. The day's events have left me drained, and I confess I have no heart for the job I must do tonight."

He drained his cup and indicated our food left largely untouched on the table.

"What a shame. My cook will be worried; I must reassure her that we were both just too weary to eat much."

He pulled the last remaining dish towards him and lifted the lid. A boyish grin crossed his face.

"On the other hand, it is always possible to find a small corner for sweetmeats, don't you think? Mmm, figs with honey and almonds... one of my favourites. He took a knife, speared one of the figs and handed it to me, then repeated the action with his own knife and took a bite, rolling his eyes appreciatively.

"Please keep eating, Richenda," he waved his hand at the dish, "or I am liable to eat my way through them all and then feel rather ill later."

I chuckled and nibbled the edge of my own fig. He was right; it was moist and sweet. "Brendan will be sorry to have missed these. He loves figs."

Uncle Cardiel replaced the lid on the dish and pushed it towards me. "Take the rest then. No protests, he can have them in the morning, or in the carriage on the way home, if you prefer. Who can feed a small boy lots of sweets if not his indulgent uncle? Well, great great uncle, I suppose, but too many greats make a body feel old, so I'll stick to uncle. You will be doing me a favour, Richenda. I cannot resist them, and if they are safely in your apartments I will not be tempted to overindulge."

"But I may - they are lovely. Thank you, uncle. I have enjoyed this evening. It is a shame you didn't get to see Brendan, but he isn't nice when he is over-tired, and he needed his bed. Will we see you in the morning?"

"I'm afraid not. The Curia meets tomorrow and is not scheduled to end before midday. With the Morgan and McLain issue sure to take up most of our time, I fear that even midday is being optimistic. But you must come again soon, my dear. And hopefully next time will be less eventful."

"I should love to, of course. Uncle, would you mind if I returned to my apartments? Brendan and I have had a long day today."

"Of course not, my dear. I'll get O'Sullivan to escort you back. I trust he has been taking good care of you?"

He kissed me briefly on the cheek and with an affectionate squeeze of the arm, bade me good night and entrusted me to the faithful Monsignor.

Back at my rooms, I found a pack roll from Marbury with all I could need for an overnight stay and I blessed my maids who had packed so well for me and the lone rider who had made his way there and back. A maid from my uncle's staff was waiting to assist me, and she brushed out my hair and braided it for sleep.

Although I was tired, my mind was racing too much to sleep, so rather than disturb Brendan with tossing and turning I crossed to the window of the apartment and opened it to look out. The air still smelled faintly of wood smoke, but now also crackled with frost and my breath swirled in front of me.

The bells of the Cathedral rang muffled through the night and twenty or so cloaked figures – the bishops and archbishops, I supposed - assembled outside and began to enter. I could see the flicker of flame as they lit candles just inside the door, but the light dimmed as the men moved further into the nave. It was no great time before they began leaving the Cathedral again - obviously the ceremony of excommunication from the Church was not a long one - and in twos and threes dispersed through the city to their apartments.

The following morning, Brendan and I prepared to leave Dhassa. As Uncle Thomas had indicated midday came and went with no sign of resolution. Alaric Morgan and Duncan McLain and what to do about them was likely causing the Curia something of a headache, I fancied. I wondered if news of Saint Torin's would reach Bran's ears and to whom he would be ranting about Morgan if it did.

The carriage was rolled out of the stable block, with no trace of the previous day's grime - the stable boys had evidently been busy. The horses, which last I had seen mud-caked and tired looked well cared-for and rested.

Brendan sat at the window as we drove out, spotting the private soldiers in the employ of the bishops and archbishops gathered for the Curia. He had a quick eye for the different emblems and was kept well occupied for quite some time.

I confess to scanning for Alain the hunter, but no-one paid our carriage particular attention as we left and no attractive stranger noted our passing, despite Brendan waving happily from the window. It appeared I was not to see my 'Alain' again.


	12. Chapter 12

**May 18th, 1121 - ****City of Dhassa**

We had arranged ourselves by the fire after dinner, more from habit than necessity since the evening was warm. My uncle took his usual chair to the right of the mantel, and Bishop Denis Arilan and I sat opposite each other with a low table between. Uncle Thomas had poured us all a glass of a very nice port, and sipped at his occasionally, but Bishop Arilan and I had barely tasted ours, preferring to keep our heads clear as we matched wits across a cardounet board. On my previous visits I had played my uncle at cardounet a number of times, beating him on several occasions, and so it was that I found myself taking on Denis Arilan for the first time. According to my uncle, he was a keen player, and Uncle Thomas was eager to see who would come out the winner.

Brendan and I had travelled over from Stonelyn in the afternoon. Brendan had behaved impeccably that afternoon, minding his manners with Bishop Arilan, and managing to lisp "Your Excellency" in a particularly endearing way that forced a smile into the blue-violet eyes. Joan had taken Brendan back to the guest rooms before dinner, to give him his meal there, and we had enjoyed some rather more grown up talk since. That is if enjoyment could be truly had from a discussion of the fall of Cardosa to the forces of Wencit of Torenth.

"Of course, we suspected months ago that Cardosa would fall eventually. Then Morgan disappeared for a while and it turned out that Brion had sent him to Cardosa to see if he could make any recommendations to strengthen the garrison and make it easier for the city to hold out through the winter. Not even Morgan's recommendations could help us hang onto the city when it came to it, though, and of course he had to return to Rhemuth when Brion died." Bishop Arilan carefully moved one of his pieces to remove one of mine, and looked up for a moment as if to gauge my reaction to the loss of my piece. He allowed a flicker of contentment to cross his face – he obviously thought he had the measure of me.

"Fair exchange at the time, a border city for the safety of a new king. A shame it seems so much more significant now," mused my uncle.

"What will Wencit do now?" I asked, scanning the board in case my planned next move held any perils I had missed.

"He doesn't have to do anything for a while, my lady," said Arilan, "Ordinarily he'd want to strike before Kelson was ready, although our forces have been more or less in place for a while. But the situation is getting worse, rather than better, with the situation in Corwyn less stable with each report. He may well decide to wait for Kelson to force his hand in the hope that things self destruct internally first."

"So the longer it goes on the better it gets for Wencit?" I asked.

"He has the upper hand, it appears. He has control of Cardosa and we know his forces are threatening many of the smaller mountain passes too, to say nothing of a formidable force threatening Corwyn, so they could come through at any one of several places. We have had to spread our forces right along the border and wait and see what he does." The younger bishop took a sip of his port. "Straight down the Cardosa defile is the most likely choice though, since Wencit himself is there. Of course with him being Deryni, he has a more immediate way of sending orders to the other commanders than most – one must assume that he has links set up so that he can communicate with the other forces to coordinate the attack."

"So my husband is the first line of defence." My hand trembled slightly as I moved a piece into an attacking position and waited for Arilan's response.

Two pairs of sympathetic eyes turned towards me.

"Yes, my dear," said my uncle, "but that just shows in what regard he is held."

"Alaric Morgan will have advised the king where to position his armies and he obviously thought highly enough of Bran to recommend him for Llyndruth," Arilan chimed in.

"That's if he didn't give Bran the most dangerous posting on purpose." Bran's mistrust of Morgan had seemed ridiculous when we were safe in our own beds in Marbury. Here in Dhassa, with war just days away, anything seemed possible.

Arilan looked at me shrewdly across the cardounet board. "Morgan will have recommended troop positions based on numbers and the talents of their commanders, not on personal feelings. Why do you think he would do otherwise?"

My uncle answered for me. "Richenda is aware of the... ah... relationship between her husband and our renegade Duke."

Arilan pulled a wry face. "There is no love lost between them, that's for sure. It's no secret. Most people at court will be aware of it."

"Richenda feels it is the Deryni issue again."

Arilan pushed his chair back from the table and steepled his fingers, giving the idea due consideration. "I'm not so sure it is, actually. Now bear in mind I have only seen them together when we are in council and so only rarely, but I think it is more – forgive me, Lady Richenda – but I think originally it was more envy on Bran's part than any feeling about Morgan being Deryni."

Cardiel raised an eyebrow, "Go on."

"Well they are not so far apart in age. Morgan is twenty nine now I think, and Bran is what – twenty five or twenty six?" he looked at me for confirmation.

"He is twenty five."

"And as far as Bran is concerned he is the equal of Morgan in military matters. He wants to be in Morgan's place at the right hand of the king and at the head of his armies. I think if you took Morgan's Deryni powers away completely you would still see enmity between them because they are rivals for the same position. In fact you might say he wants to _be_ Morgan."

That made a lot of sense to me. I remembered our conversations when we first met and him telling me of his ambitions to be in the king's confidence and become more influential in state matters.

"I think Bran came to realise that he was not going to displace Morgan in Brion's affections - after all, Morgan and Brion had been friends since Morgan was nine or ten, and firm friends by the time he was fourteen – firmer friends than the age difference between them would suggest. I think Bran hoped that when Kelson came to the throne he would stand more of a chance, being closer in age to Kelson. But Morgan has been involved with Kelson right from the start, and Bran has had to accept that the post of right hand man is well and truly taken for our younger Haldane as well, for the foreseeable future."

Arilan paused to move one of his knights, took a long sip of his port and looked back at me. "Your move, my lady."

"The fault cannot be all on Bran's side though, surely. He told me once that Morgan pulled a sword on him, so Morgan hasn't exactly helped matters, behaving like that." I had the urge to stand up for Bran somewhat – unquestionably he had his faults, but there are two sides on any battlefield.

"Hmmm. I can only think of one occasion where there was more than the usual snarling between them, and if that's the occasion he means then I'm afraid he may have ... embellished ... the tale somewhat."

"So what actually happened then, Your Excellency?"

Arilan sized me up for a time as if deciding whether to share the story with me before proceeding. "Shortly before Brion sent Morgan to secure the garrison at Cardosa many rumours circulated in Rhemuth that Morgan planned to overthrow the king and set himself on the throne: ridiculous of course."

I nodded and moved my queen along her diagonal, "I heard about that. Bran mentioned them a number of times. I thought they sounded far-fetched but Bran seemed to believe there was at least an element of truth in them."

"Bran and Morgan had been having one of their differences of opinion and Brion decided to call an adjournment of the meeting, to allow everyone to have something to eat and drink, and to ease the tension somewhat. We were in the anteroom and everyone was serving themselves and stretching their legs for a bit, when the argument resumed out of nowhere and before we knew it Bran was hurling these rumours at Morgan. I don't know if Bran believed what he was saying or whether it was just the heat of the moment, but Morgan isn't the sort of man whose honour you question, especially not to his face."

"Bran said Morgan drew on him?"

"He never actually drew his sword. In fact I don't even recall his hand ever reaching the hilt. I heard Kevin of Kierney say "Just leave it alone, Alaric" or similar, and he pretty much pinned Morgan's arms and dragged him away. Rogier did the same to Bran. Morgan was certainly as angry as I've ever seen him, not that he loses his composure often. Who knows what might have happened if the others hadn't stepped in - it certainly wouldn't have been pretty, and it wouldn't have surprised me if Morgan had challenged him." Arilan paused a moment to make his move, placing his bishop precisely on the square and looking back up at me.

"And it didn't actually happen in the council itself?" pressed Cardiel.

"Thankfully not. I don't know what the ramifications are of that sort of disagreement in the council chamber, but as it was, Brion sent the pair of them away to cool down for a couple of hours. I suspect they were both paid a visit and told exactly what he thought of the incident, and I would guess they both got to see what an angry Haldane king looks like. He made them shake hands when they returned, but it was a token gesture; it didn't change anything between them. It was shortly afterwards that Morgan left court and no-one knew where he had gone. I think Brion would have done that anyway, but I suspect he was quite keen to stop any escalation of the problem, too."

"So Morgan was at fault, just as much as my husband was, then."

"Alaric Morgan is not faultless, by any means," Arilan agreed. "He comes across as arrogant to many and often delights in provoking people. But I can say that Brion put great store by him, and Prince Nigel still does, and those two are among the best judges of men that I have ever come across. I would trust in their judgement over that of most people.

"It's a shame," he continued, "for in many ways Alaric Morgan and your husband are hewn from the same block. They both have an instinctive understanding of military strategy, and if Kelson could make them bury their differences and work together instead of trying to score points off each other, he would have a formidable team. Your husband is a fine man, my lady; please don't think me overly critical of him. It is an unfortunate situation that two of Kelson's best commanders have such a bad reaction to each other."

I moved my bishop its two spaces across the board, leapfrogging Arilan's knight, and Arilan returned his attention to the board, to study the consequences of my move. My uncle leaned on the back of my chair and suddenly a great beam spread across his face.

"Well I never, Denis. I think she has you! Checkmate next move, if I'm not much mistaken, and not a thing you can do about it."

Arilan stared at the board, trying to see a way to rescue the situation, then smiled and toppled his king.

"I cede, your ladyship. And I see that it is not only the lord of Marley who has a strategic mind."

"Thank you, my lord Bishop, but I fear I took advantage of you. You were so busy explaining the origins of the disagreement between my Lord Bran and the Duke of Corwyn I suspect you did not fully think through the implications of my moves."

"Then maybe you will give me the opportunity to redeem myself another evening, my lady? For you have given me a much better game than your uncle has ever done." He glanced at Cardiel, his eyes twinkling slightly, and got to his feet.

My uncle shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say, Richenda? I am afraid cardounet is not my forte. I contribute in such way as I can, but for the most part I leave matters of strategy to those with a flair for such things."

"It has been a pleasure, Lady Richenda. Shall I see you at Mass tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'll be at morning Mass, and then I shall be arranging my apartments for our move into the city. I dare say you'll see more of me once we are living here full time."

As my uncle returned from seeing Arilan out, he whooped like a boy and danced a little jig across the room.

"Well done, Richenda! Oh well done, indeed! Our friend Arilan considers himself something of a cardounet expert and I don't recall ever managing to beat him myself. He will have his board out tonight mulling over what went wrong, I warrant. For all his smiles, losing to a slip of a girl like you will stick in his craw. Beware if you play him again – he will be out for revenge and no mistake."

"No quarter asked and none given, uncle."

"And Richenda, even though he was talking he was watching the board and studying your moves. You won fair and square, so don't go making excuses for him."

"Oh, don't worry, uncle. I shall claim that as a victory, just in case I never get another. And now, if you'll excuse me, I shall go and see if Joan is managing to keep my son under control. She has the patience of a saint with him, you know."

"You can keep her with you when you come to Dhassa, if you'd prefer, you know."

"No, uncle, she has children and grandchildren in Marbury and when war comes I'm sure she would rather be close to home. I shall feel better for knowing she is safe with her family, too. I know when things have settled down she will return to tame Brendan for me. She is a marvel, you know, I don't know what I'd do without her."

With a quick kiss for my uncle, to whom I was becoming most attached, I returned to my apartments. And I confess when I was safely behind closed doors there, I allowed myself an unladylike skip of my own.


	13. Chapter 13

**June 19th - ****Stonelyn Manor and the city of Dhassa**

"Master Brendan, just put down that drum and let me brush your hair like a good boy. You are to go and see His Grace the Bishop today, and attend a service in the cathedral, so you must be well presented. I'll not have any of those Dhassa folks thinking that my Master Brendan doesn't make an effort when he's in company."

Brendan's nurse fussed over him straightening his new tunic and brushing away imaginary lint from his sleeve. He was judged fit to be seen, then, and allowed to sit for his bread and honey before we left, the drum he had been given for his recent birthday tantalisingly just out of reach. Watching my son wriggling in new stiff clothes, I wondered if it would have been better the other way round, with the bread and honey before the clothes, but mercifully they escaped without too much damage: a few crumbs only, which were easily brushed off when he had finished. A quick flannel across his face, and the "young master" was ready to be on his way.

A rap at the door and the nurse admitted a maid clutching a parchment. "A messenger has brought a letter for you, my lady."

"Thank you, Grace." I turned it to see the seal – Bran's. "Is the messenger still here?"

"Yes, my lady. He's in the kitchen with cook, getting something to eat."

"When he has finished, please send him to me. The letter is from my husband - I'd like to ask the messenger how he fares and to send a quick reply back with him." I had not heard from Bran in some time – there had been no birthday greeting for Brendan, even - and I wanted to reassure myself that all was as well as could be expected with him.

"Very well, my lady."

"Nurse, would you please take Master Brendan and keep him entertained until I have spoken to the messenger. Do, please, try to keep him clean. I know he attracts dirt, but it would be nice if he were presentable, at least till we get clear of the manor. And if you let him have his drum to play with, can you take him outdoors with it? I'm really beginning to think that a quieter gift would have been a better idea."

I broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it.

"My dear Richenda," he wrote. "We are still encamped below Cardosa. Wencit shows no sign of moving, and the men grow restless with the waiting, but I suspect that we are unlikely to wait much longer. You wrote that you had apartments arranged in Dhassa - take Brendan there as soon as you may. Many others will seek sanctuary in the holy city if Wencit invades and I would have you both safe there before the attack comes. I will get word to you as often as I can, but we will bear the first brunt of Wencit's assault, so my priority will be keeping the king informed. Hug Brendan for me, and tell him I love him. A big boy of four now, where did the time go? God willing I will be home with you both as soon as this is all over. Bran."

I knew the situation he was in was dire, and this had a note of farewell about it. I tried not to think that this might be my last letter from him, but sat to write a short note back.

I wrote that we were safe and happy at the manor. That Brendan was growing again and I had needed to buy new tunics for him. Simple things that I hoped would give Bran comfort. I assured him that we had indeed got apartments arranged in Dhassa - smaller than we were used to, but good enough, and that Uncle Thomas had arranged servants for me so our own could return home to their families until things were more settled again. I promised that we would move there within the week and told him not to worry about us, but to take good care of himself and come safely home as soon as he might. A cheerful letter such as a soldier's wife should send to her husband on the eve of war.

When the messenger came in I knew him; it was Joseph, Bran's own clerk.

"Joseph? He sent you personally?"

"My lady," he bowed, "I like to think that he gave the letter to someone he could trust to see it arrived safely," an eloquent shrug, "or maybe he just realised that he would have little need for a clerk over the next few days and kept a man more able to bear arms beside him instead."

"It is close then, the war?" I was crumpling the letter, I realised, and made myself relax my fingers.

"Indeed it appears so. Wencit has sat in Cardosa like a spider in his web for nearly six weeks - there is no reason now why he should not make his move. We think he has delayed this last week or two to let the dread build up in our men, for many of them are mightily afraid of meeting an army that may use magic against them. I think Wencit may be hoping for some of our troops to desert ahead of the battle." He tossed his head defiantly. "He has reckoned without Bran Coris though. The men love him, and would follow him into the mouth of Hell if he asked them to. No desertions from our camp, my lady."

"Thank you, Joseph. Will you stay here now?"

"By your leave, my lady, I will change my horse for fresh and then return to the camp. I may not have as strong a sword arm as most, and I'm more likely to hit a friend than a foe if you put a bow in my hand, but Lord Bran may find some small use for me when battle comes, and I would rather be at his side than hiding safe at home."

I smiled, knowing Bran would have no-one on his staff unable to play his part when the time came – Joseph was playing down his abilities for sure. "You are a brave man and a loyal one, Joseph. Get cook to pack you some fresh provisions and tell the stables that you are to have your pick of the horses. Please take this letter to my lord and tell him that the priests in the village here and at Marbury pray for his safety daily. God speed, Joseph."

I sat by the window and considered what he had said. Things were bleak in the Cardosa defile, but I was encouraged by his words about the men's strong personal loyalty to Bran. I hoped that might carry my husband through the coming storm. Shortly I heard the sound of a horse's hooves past the window, picking up speed as it went through the gate, and Joseph galloped off up the road northwards, heading back to rejoin his camp.

I went to find my son, to give him the hugs and kisses that his father had sent for him, and many more of my own.

ooooooooo

In Dhassa we fell into our now-familiar routine of a light midday meal with Uncle Thomas, followed by one of my regular games of cardounet with Bishop Arilan. This time he narrowly had the victory, but I always enjoyed our games – it was good to use my brain for something other than accounts, and his conversation was always interesting. I was growing to like the prickly bishop.

Uncle Thomas had taken Brendan round the stables while we played, the cut and thrust of cardounet having little interest to a four year old. On their return Brendan's new tunic was showing signs of wear already. Uncle Thomas had obviously tried to clean Brendan up a bit before returning him to me, and Brendan chattered away animatedly about what he had seen – the pair of them were becoming firm friends.

We were to move into the city in the next few days and Uncle Thomas promised that the apartments I had arranged would be aired and ready for us by then, and that the members of his staff that I was borrowing would be at my convenience.

Later at Vespers I was introduced to Lady Bethan Gwyndor, who had also sought refuge in Dhassa. She had taken apartments close to those that Brendan and I were to move into, and after I had taken my leave of my uncle and Bishop Arilan, Brendan and I went to her apartments briefly. Up until now I had relied on my uncle and Bishop Arilan for company while in Dhassa, so it was a relief to think that I would have at least one other friend there. She had one son of near Brendan's age and another somewhat younger, so Brendan would have company too, for which I was grateful – he was getting harder and harder to keep entertained, and a friend his own age would make everything so much easier.

The courtyard was full of excitement as we left. Rumours were spreading like wildfire through the soldiers that Alaric Morgan and Duncan McLain had been apprehended in the city. Some even said that they had attacked my uncle and Bishop Arilan. One of the soldiers confirmed to me that both bishops were safe, but he had heard little else, other than that the pair had been caught outside my uncle's offices disguised as monks. That certainly made it sound like they were up to no good, although I could see no reason why Morgan and his cousin should mean my uncle and Bishop Arilan harm.

Brendan had been drooping when we left Vespers, and was fit to drop by the time we left Dhassa, so he was asleep shortly after we set off in the carriage to return to Stonelyn to pack our belongings for the move into the city.

He slept with his head in my lap and I stroked his fine red-gold hair, reflecting that I would have much news to catch up with when I moved into the city in a few days.


	14. Chapter 14

**June 24th – 27th - ****City of Dhassa**

It seemed like no time at all before Brendan and I were moving into Dhassa, the time passing in a flurry of preparations. We bade a tearful farewell to Joan, who was to return to Marley with many of our staff until the situation became clearer in Gwynedd. I felt badly for Brendan – Joan and I had been the only constants in his life these past few months, and now she was gone too. He had already taken to Sister Luke, whom Uncle Thomas had provided to be Brendan's nurse during our time in Dhassa, and he was an adaptable child, but a lot had been asked of him recently.

Thankfully he had some new friends to look forward to in Dhassa. Lady Bethan took Brendan while we unpacked, and he was soon playing happily with young Culley Gwyndor and little Owain. A meal appeared in my apartments at midday, courtesy of the Gywndor household, and I thanked whatever luck had me meet Lady Bethan that evening in the Cathedral.

It took some time for the men to carry all the trunks and baskets up the stairs to our apartment, and longer still for the maids and me to sort all the belongings into chests and drawers. But by the time Monsignor O'Sullivan arrived to see if we were settled in, the rooms looked a little more like ours and a little less like a standard guest apartment.

Monsignor O'Sullivan was becoming almost part of the family by now, admiring the personal touches I had brought from Stonelyn to help Brendan and me feel at home. "Bishop Cardiel told me to make sure you were comfortable. He apologises for his absence, but if things have gone according to plan he will be with the King now."

"Oh Monsignor, how is my uncle? When last I was here the Duke of Corwyn and his kinsman had been captured in the city. Were my uncle and Bishop Arilan unharmed, then? I assume so, if my uncle is with the King." I had presumed that no news from Dhassa meant good news, but had not heard that Uncle Thomas had left the city.

"Oh indeed," Monsignor O'Sullivan reassured me, "it became clear early on that Morgan and McLain had meant no harm, although their way of entering the city had been somewhat unorthodox. The soldiers who apprehended them are doubtless exaggerating the story of the day they arrested Alaric Morgan dressed as a monk." He chuckled. "It _did_ cause quite a stir though, as you can imagine."

Yes, an unlikely role, from what I had heard of Alaric Morgan.

"So their excommunications – they no longer stand?" My uncle had so clearly been uncomfortable with his part in the proceedings that it would be a weight off his mind if they could be lifted.

"No, my lady. We had a service of reconciliation a few days ago, and Morgan and McLain were received back into the church. Bishop Cardiel and Bishop Arilan have gone with them to King Kelson to offer their aid against Wencit."

"Is there any more news from Cardosa?" I realised with a guilty start that I had scarcely thought of Bran since his last letter, with all the organising of our move to Dhassa.

"None recently, my lady. The last we heard Wencit was still occupying the city, but had made no move beyond that. The bishops seemed to think that a move is imminent, though, hence their swift departure to meet up with the King."

Monsignor O'Sullivan was a useful source of factual information, but for what had _actually_ happened, I needed someone else – someone who could give me a first hand account of proceedings. It looked like Lady Bethan might prove to be even more useful than I had imagined.

I was cheerfully invited into Lady Bethan's apartments, which were laid out very similarly to mine, and similarly furnished with a mix of guest apartment items and her own personal belongings. The boys were sitting with a drink of buttermilk, taking a break from play, and Brendan looked happier than I had seen him for months. They had been playing so nicely together, Lady Bethan said, that she had allowed her nurse some time to go to the market in the city for some treats while she watched them herself. Maybe I should have moved into Dhassa earlier - I might have had a more contented boy if I had.

Owain came up onto Lady Bethan's lap for a cuddle, and I watched them wistfully for a moment. Rhiannon would have been around the same age and turning into a proper little person. The feeling of loss never seemed to diminish – I wondered if it ever would.

"Did you hear that Bishop Cardiel has left the city?" I was not going to have to prompt her then – she seemed keen to share the local gossip.

"Yes, Monsignor O'Sullivan has told me some of what happened."

"It was very exciting for a few days." Lady Bethan pushed a bowl of roasted almonds in my direction. "That night you left there were all sorts of rumours going round. First that Morgan and McLain had killed your uncle and Bishop Arilan, then that Morgan and McLain themselves had been killed. But then it came out that they had come to throw themselves on the bishops' mercy and to seek absolution for the Saint Torin's incident and the excommunication and all." A wave of the hand encompassed the 'all' – evidently Morgan and McLain had plenty of which to repent.

"Well plenty of people had plenty to say about it, but your uncle and Bishop Arilan seemingly accepted their explanation of what had happened at Saint Torin's and a day or two later there was a big service of penance for them. There was a big procession - you should have seen the crowds – I've certainly never seen anything like it. It was the most excitement Dhassa has seen for years, I expect. It's a shame you couldn't have been there - the cathedral was packed." Lady Gwyndor was obviously in her element.

"You were there?"

"Well, lots of people went along – the cathedral was packed. You could hardly move. Wouldn't you have wanted to see the Duke of Corwyn and his cousin, if you'd been here?"

I wasn't at all sure I would. It seemed to me that they were doing penance not just for the burning of Saint Torin's 'and all' but for the mere fact of being Deryni, and that made me desperately uncomfortable. It was bad enough that we had to hide who we were and deny our heritage, without having to do penance for it in front of people like Lady Bethan. Suddenly I liked her a little less well, and disliked myself for feeling so. No, I didn't think I'd have wanted to be there, even if I had been in the city at the time.

Brendan and Culley resumed their play, starting an animated game of marbles with their own unique version of the rules, and getting very agitated at Owain's interference. I kept a careful eye on them – Lady Bethan seemed so animated about the city gossip that Owain could have choked on a marble and she wouldn't have noticed. I wondered how long it would take the nurse to get back from the market as I wasn't sure I wanted to leave my son alone here.

"Anyway, there was a service, as I told you, and I don't think I've ever seen a Deryni close up before. Well, as close as I could get, anyway – it was crowded, as I said. You'd think you'd be able to tell, wouldn't you? But then I suppose if you could, that Father McLain wouldn't have been able to hide what he was all these years."

_If you only knew, Lady Bethan._

"But they didn't stay in the city for long? Morgan and McLain, that is?" I would have liked to meet Alaric Morgan although not under those circumstances. I was intrigued to see what sort of man he was, to have lived openly as Deryni for so long, and to see if I could see what it was in him that had inspired such hatred in Bran. And if Duncan McLain were to turn out to be Deryni, well the first known Deryni priest in two centuries would be an interesting man to meet, too.

She looked mildly irked that I had cut her story short.

"Well, yes, after the service he and Bishop Arilan, and Morgan and McLain, all set out with the episcopal armies to meet up with the king. So war with Torenth must be close, mustn't it? It's a good job you moved here, my dear, before it was too late."

The nurse returned, with baskets of fresh fruit and a few sweetmeats for the boys. She seemed to be more vigilant of her charges than Lady Bethan had been, and I felt a lot happier now that she was watching over them.

"I must get back to my apartments, Lady Bethan. Would you mind if I took Brendan – he is looking tired and I think he could do with a little quiet - he is not used to all this excitement. I'd be happy to have Culley to play with us tomorrow, if you'd like to spend some time with Owain."

"What a shame, my dear. I didn't get to tell you all about the service, did I? Did you hear that the Duke of Corwyn fainted clean away? How charming – he was obviously so touched by the service. Although Bishop Arilan seemed quite annoyed at the interruption..."

ooooooooo

Three days later a messenger pounded into the courtyard in Dhassa and we began to make ready for the return of the Episcopal armies and the King's army that had been encamped at Dol Shaia.

It had been a busy few days for them, it seemed – Coroth had fallen, and been taken again, and Archbishop Loris arrested and deposed, with my uncle made acting Primate of Gwynedd. His loyalty to the King was likely to be recognised then, when the permanent positions were decided.

All in Dhassa went into a flurry of preparations, then. The armies themselves would camp outside Dhassa, and some of the commanders too, but apartments must be made ready for the King and such other nobles as would stay with him in a city already stretched to bursting point. The holy city was never meant to house as many as this, and Monsignor O'Sullivan and his ilk were kept busy in the day between the messenger bringing his news and the King and his party arriving in Desse.

I only saw my uncle briefly after he arrived – just long enough for us to reassure each other that all was well. He was closeted away most of the time with the King and his advisors in the Bishop's palace till all hours, and not feeling much like socialising, even if he had the time. We in the guest apartments carried on our lives as usual, while not far away soldiers and strategists made the decisions that could save us or doom us all to Wencit's tyranny.


	15. Chapter 15

**Night of June 29th / 30th - ****Dhassa**

The sound of knocking woke me.

My maid was greatly flustered, still in her nightrail with a robe pulled hastily over, and with Sister Luke close behind her. It felt like I had been asleep some time and had been woken from the depths of a dream, so I was drowsy and took a moment to understand what she was saying to me.

"My lady, you must get up. The King is in your dayroom, and he requests to speak with you immediately."

"The King? At this hour?" I was fully awake then, and out of bed.

This was not good news. Good news keeps till morning, when a person is rested and all the better to receive it. Bad news is a call in the dark, urgent and insistent. Is my lord dead, that the King visits me in the night?

Miriam quickly helped me into a white dress, simple bar the embroidery at hem and cuffs and neck. No time to dress my hair properly, not with the King waiting. She took out the braid and brushed my hair out, securing a simple lace kerchief round it. I glanced in the mirror: it would have to do. A pale anxious face looked back at me, so I pinched my cheeks and bit my lips to make the colour come. Better. Still not as I would have liked for my first meeting with the King of Gwynedd, but certainly better.

A quick glance through the door showed Sister Luke and a servant scurrying around tidying and lighting candles against the gloom. One candle stand was set in a draught and the candles guttered and smoked, sending eerie shadows across the plain bare walls.

Kelson was standing with his eyes downcast, allowing the activity to go on around him. Although I knew full well that the King was only a lad of fourteen, I was still surprised by how young he looked. Still not into his man's height and growth, he looked like a boy sent to do a man's job, and I was concerned for him, delivering bad news to a woman in the small hours.

A sudden dread gripped me, and I held tight to the door frame, trying to breathe through the rising panic. Then Sister Luke was at my elbow, smiling encouragingly, but leading me firmly through the door.

"Come, daughter," she said, "you cannot keep the King waiting."

I recovered myself as I went in. Whatever the news I must bear it with good grace as the wife and daughter of a nobleman of Gwynedd, and I entered the room with my head held high and I hoped no outward sign of my nervousness, although my heart fluttered within me.

I sank into a deep curtsey. "Your Majesty."

"My Lady Countess," Kelson bowed slightly and raised me up. "I greatly regret disturbing your sleep at this hour. Truthfully we have been working in the Curia chamber for so long I hadn't fully appreciated how late it was. But I wanted you to hear the news I bring before it spread too far – even in a city word travels quickly." He glanced pointedly at the servants still milling around in the background.

"Sister Luke, Miriam, Alice - you may go. I shall be quite safe here with His Majesty. Sister Luke, if you would wait in the antechamber for me, please?"

The three left, exchanging concerned glances. They had obviously formed their own conclusions about the purpose of this visit.

"Thank you for coming in person, Your Majesty, but I take it from your presence that it is not good news which you bring. Is it my husband, Sire?"

Kelson dropped his eyes, obviously struggling for the right form of words.

"Yes, my lady, the news concerns your husband, but maybe not in the way you had feared."

Praise be, he is wounded then, not dead. Or maybe captured. But he still lives.

I swallowed uncomfortably, "Pray continue, Your Majesty. Whatever the news, I will bear it with fortitude, but please do not keep me in suspense."

Kelson looked me in the eye and continued. "We have received news tonight, my lady, that your husband met up with the forces of Duke Jared of Cassan at Rengarth yesterday, and that his army treacherously fell upon those of Cassan and Kierney. Many of the Cassani troops were captured or slaughtered and Duke Jared himself is taken - we do not know if he still lives." Kelson paused a moment, "My lady, your husband's forces were wearing the stag of Furstán under their Marley colours. Bran Coris has allied with Wencit against us."

I hardly heard the last sentences. After the King's words of treachery my mind started to whirl and I could not take it in. I stood silently a moment, turning to the window and staring out into the blackness to try to still the chaos of my thoughts. Had he truly just said that my husband was a traitor? Riding with Wencit against the loyal men of Cassan? Bran's troops would follow him into the mouth of Hell, Joseph had said. They had followed him much further than that.

"Shall I call one of your maidservants, my lady?" asked Kelson, clearly out of his depth.

No, I needed no maidservants, just to compose myself. Then my thoughts turned to Brendan.

My son was the heir to a traitor then, and had a stark future ahead of him. Bran's betrayal of his King was too great to contemplate. The betrayal of me hurt beyond anything I had ever experienced. But the betrayal of Brendan who idolised his father and who would have to suffer most the consequences of what his father had done – that was worst of all.

A single tear fell to the windowsill. Whatever would become of my poor boy now?

Kelson was speaking again, and I pulled myself together in time to hear "...not hold your husband's treachery against you and your son. You shall have my personal protection for as long as - ".

He was interrupted by a short, urgent knock at the door.

"Kelson?" the voice outside the door was somehow familiar.

The King opened the door and a tall, blond man entered. He gave me the briefest of acknowledgements, not really seeing me, and turned to start talking urgently to Kelson. The two of them bent over a letter and discussed its contents animatedly.

Then my world turned upside down, for here in my dayroom was 'Alain the hunter' - the man who had assisted in pushing my carriage out of the mud near St Torin's some months before. So my feeling that he was associated with the Duke of Corwyn was likely, then, but he must be high placed indeed to call the King by his given name, and to enter with scarcely any acknowledgement of him.

The King remembered my presence. "My lady, you will pardon me, this is important news."

He looked up then, my stranger, and I could see from his face that he remembered me too and that he was as confused and distracted as I was. He took an involuntary step towards me then stopped, swept into a rather more accomplished bow than Alain the hunter had managed and murmured, "My lady".

What did we say then? I can scarcely remember, as it was just so wonderful to be speaking to him again, and when he said that he had seen me in his dreams, it was as if he echoed my own thoughts, for my dreams had been haunted since Saint Torin's by a man with grey eyes.

At that moment all thoughts of my husband fled from my mind, for it seemed to me that I had been waiting for this man for all my life. And the most glorious thing of all was that it appeared that he was reacting in a similar way.

Then the King introduced us and it all fell into place, for it had been no Corwyn retainer who had put shoulder to wheel at Saint Torin's, but the Duke of Corwyn himself. A Deryni like me but openly, even brazenly so. Could this captivating man really be the Alaric Morgan whom Bran had hated so much?

But then I watched his face as he heard my name, and though he tried to conceal it, I saw the flicker of reaction when he learned who I was – and to whom I was married. He hid it well, but the emotion was there, however he tried to cover it up with another courtly bow. Suddenly I wanted him to think well of me, not to think of my husband and their disagreements, or of Bran's treachery, but to know me for my own sake. I wanted him to like me.

Had I really thought that? I looked over as he explained the circumstances of our meeting to a clearly bemused Kelson, and realised that, yes, I genuinely had. I tried to push the idea firmly to the back of my mind. Here I was, a married woman, albeit now of questionable status – I should not be having these thoughts about a man not my husband.

Yet I had been intrigued by the man at the shrine and unable to get him out of my thoughts, and now that he was here I had to admit that I found him fascinating and... yes... disturbingly attractive. I began to feel a giddiness that had nothing to do with the lateness of the hour or the shocking news I had just received.

My head told me that I could never trust Bran again and that even if the King were to spare his life Bran's influence in Gwynedd was at an end. But my heart replied that I had to fight for him, for Brendan's sake, even if to be seen to support Bran was repugnant to me. If my son was not to lose his inheritance and to be branded forever the son of a traitor, his best hope was for Bran to renounce Wencit and return to Kelson.

But could he ever be forgiven, even if repentant, with the blood of Cassan and Kierney on his hands?

Suddenly I knew that I had to go with the King when his army left Dhassa. If I were with the King's party, then I would know what was happening, maybe almost as soon as the King himself did. After all, I had only been told of Bran's treachery tonight as I was in the same city as the King - had I been in Marbury the news could have taken days to reach me. I had to know - being left behind not knowing which side had prevailed would be unendurable.

There was another reason too, that I began to admit to myself. A little voice whispered in my head that having just found him, being parted from Morgan would be unendurable too; I could not let him disappear from my life so soon.

The King and Morgan made to depart and I made another of those impulsive decisions that mark my life.

"A moment, Sire."

I had to accompany the King and his army, wherever that might take me, and I had a feeling that if I appealed to the King now, Morgan might take my part. It had felt as if we had reached out to each other somehow, he and I, and although I might dance dangerously close to the edge of what would be considered honourable, I had to see where that path would lead.

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice level, for I could hear it tremble and I felt sure that they could too. I folded my hands and once more I knelt to my king. This time it was to make an extraordinary request, for I knew as well as he how unusual it would be for a Countess to accompany the army, far less my son, for I would never leave him behind.

"Sire, grant me a boon, I beseech you."

He was startled, that much was clear, and he did his best to dissuade me before raising me to my feet again, but I can be determined and I was not backing down, not even to the King. Finally he gave in on condition that my uncle agreed to me travelling with him. I hoped desperately that Uncle Thomas would see how much this meant to Brendan and me, although he doubtless had enough arrangements of his own to make without any extra concerns.

As Morgan left, I could feel his eyes on me although I kept my own downcast.

I had to force myself not to look up. If I had met those grey eyes at that moment, as vulnerable as I was and with my emotions so high, I could have let my shields waver and I was not ready to let him know that I was Deryni. Not yet.

Even as he let out a perplexed sigh, my mind screamed at me to meet his gaze, let my shields fall away and enter rapport with him – to show him what I was feeling. But he turned away and shut the door. And the danger passed. For the moment.


	16. Chapter 16

**June 30th - ****Dhassa to Llyndruth Plain**

The army was to leave before dawn, so the rest of the night passed in a whirl of confused packing and arrangement-making. My uncle must have been woken in the night also, and thank heavens, he had agreed to me travelling with him, for word came from him that Sister Luke would travel with us to be nurse for Brendan and lady's maid for me. He assured me that a tent and such furnishings as could be packed at short notice would be made available. He had sent a short personal note too.

"My dearest Richenda, I am so saddened and shocked at the news. Believe Kelson when he says he holds you in no way responsible. He is an honourable man and will keep his word," and at the bottom instead of the signature with elaborate flourish and the seal of the Bishop of Dhassa, was the single word "Thomas".

At first light Sister Luke, Brendan and I had a simple breakfast. "Are we going back to Marley, Mummy?"

"No dear, we are going with the King and the armies. Won't that be grand? You can watch all the soldiers marching." I tried to sound enthusiastic and light-hearted for my son's sake, but in reality I was sick at heart.

Will Papa be there?"

"He is with another army, darling." Strictly the truth, but not in the way I wanted my son to take it.

"Can I watch the soldiers fighting?"

"I don't think the King will want a little boy too close by if there is any fighting." I smiled apologetically at Sister Luke. "I'm afraid he is rather obsessed with soldiers and horses. If you ever need to distract him, show him one or other of those, and if you can summon up a soldier [i]on[/i] a horse you will be his friend for ever."

Sister Luke smothered a laugh and cleared away the debris of the breakfast before we prepared to leave. Although it was June, that early in the morning the air was chilly and damp, so we donned light cloaks and went down to the square in the centre of the city that our room had overlooked on our first night in Dhassa.

I scanned the crowd, but couldn't see Morgan anywhere - unsurprising with the number of men and carts and horses to get on the road. One of his lieutenants found me, though, and directed me to the litters which were for our use. Litters are never my favourite means of travelling - they are cramped and sway unpleasantly, but they can travel where carriages cannot and I had no complaints. The lieutenant also pointed out a horse provided from the Dhassa stables for me, should I prefer to ride. I recognised the horse, for I had ridden her on occasion during our weeks here, when I accompanied my uncle. I thanked the lieutenant and told him that I would certainly ride if at all possible, if Brendan would stay with Sister Luke without giving the poor Sister palpitations.

The first rays of the sun were just showing over the horizon when the leading detachments formed up and started to leave. The Haldane flag fluttered proudly in a stiff breeze, and the first horses strode out through the Dhassa gates.

Our litters were to be towards the back, near the supply wagons and the carts with the tents and such furnishings as were to be transported with us, so we waited our turn to depart.

As we passed the entrance to St Senan's Cathedral, I bowed my head and sent a short prayer to St Raphael for my safety and that of my loved ones. As we passed the cathedral doors many of the soldiers doffed their caps and crossed themselves, doubtless sending up prayers similar to my own. How many of them would see Dhassa again, I wondered.

After the drama and lack of sleep of the previous night I dozed alone in my litter, being soothed by that same swaying that would normally leave me queasy. Brendan, despite his early morning, was his usual lively self in the litter he was sharing with Sister Luke, at least for this part of the journey. I did feel guilty leaving Sister Luke to look after him while I dozed, but that redoubtable woman managed to keep him entertained until midday when we used some of the provisions that we carried with us to have a scanty meal.

It was sweltering in the litter by then and I envied the riders their freedom of movement. In the heat of the afternoon Brendan finally gave in, jaded by excitement and lack of sleep and by then Sister Luke was glad to sleep too, so I was left the only wakeful one of our party.

Unexpectedly, the front of the column called a halt. The king had ordered a forced march until we reached Llyndruth Plain, the soldiers eating and drinking provisions that they carried with them as we went, so this was a surprise to us all.

I pulled back the curtain and asked a nearby soldier if he knew the reason for the delay. He glanced at his companions, who shrugged and shuffled uncomfortably. "I don't know, my lady," he replied awkwardly, with a hint of a bow, "sounds like the scouts have spotted something that needs checking out. They will pass word down the column if it is a lengthy delay, so the men can get some rest."

Word evidently came, since a few minutes later the men removed their backpacks and sprawled out on the turf to rest weary limbs.

Seizing the opportunity to stretch my legs I eased myself from the litter. The ground rolled beneath me as blood rushed into cramped legs, but it was good to be able to relieve tortured muscles, and get some fresh air. One of the men from the supply wagons fetched a folding camp chair down from his cart "Here y'are, m'lady. If we are to stop awhile you might as well be comfortable."

Comfortable wasn't the first word that came to mind, but it was far better than nothing, and I had him place it on the far side of the litter, where I would be shaded and out of the way if horses or men needed to pass.

A rider passed the lines of men. "We're to stop here a bit, lads. Make the most of it." Cheers came from many – some of the men were already asleep where they lay, taking advantage of the chance to rest while they could.

"How long, do you know?"

"Duke Nigel's men are building a funeral pyre, so an hour or so," his face twisted as he recalled what he had seen "or two, maybe."

"What's been happening up there, then?"

The rider shook his head. "Bad things, man. Terrible things. We've found some of the Cassani troops down there," he waved an arm "in the ravine. Stuck on spikes and made to stand like a troop on parade." He swallowed with difficulty. "And they've all been hacked about, but the tears on their clothes don't match the wounds on their bodies. And worst of all," another pause as he struggled to keep his composure, "some are saying as they've no heads. Their helmets just stuck on their shoulders, like."

The men gasped, and suddenly one of them remembered my presence as I sat quietly behind the litter, aghast at what I was hearing.

I heard awkward shuffles and a low voice saying "Ah, man, there's a lady and her son in the litter. D'ye think they overheard?"

Yes, I had heard all right. I was suddenly queasy, and it was nothing to do with the previous swaying of the litter or the warmth of the day. Was this Bran's work? And if so, had I ever truly known my husband at all?

If Bran had done these things, then my being here would be useless. Kelson would never forgive him, no matter what fancy words Bran came up with. Treating the dead like this was beyond contempt and no-one would deal with him now.

"Aye, and they are Bran Coris's wife and child," said another low voice. "What will you bet me that he's behind this?" Rumbles of agreement came from the others in the party, quickly muted in case I overheard.

"I just hope that Duke Nigel's men can get them all decently seen to. Then the bishops can say the words for them and we can all get away from this accursed spot."

As the afternoon passed the smoke from the pyres started to rise, thick and black. The wind carried the smell away to begin with, but as time went by it reached us all: an acrid, greasy smell that clung to clothes and hair. As the soldiers were gathering their things ready for the order to move out, another lone rider made his way towards me – the Corwyn lieutenant who had aided me earlier.

"His Grace Duke Alaric sent me to see if you were all right, my lady. It must be dreadfully hot in the litter – do you and your son have enough to drink? Can I get you anything?"

I was pleased to think that Morgan was thinking of me even as we travelled. I knew that he would be attentive to any woman with whose care he had been entrusted, but I hoped deep down that it was more than that. I was tempted to cast my mind to the head of the column, to see if I could detect him there, but I did not dare risk him becoming aware of my touch. Caution was still my best policy.

"As a matter of fact you can." I returned to the lieutenant, "Could you find the horse that His Grace provided for me? I should like to ride for a time while my son and his nurse are sleeping."

"Of course, my lady," and with a nod of the head he wheeled away, returning minutes later with a fine bay by the reins.

The wagoner who had provided my chair came to reclaim it, but said no word and did not raise his head as he did it. He ducked the smallest nod he could get away with without outright rudeness and encouraged his team onward. He was seemingly having as little to do with the Countess of Marley as possible after recent events.

The army continued its journey, but it was a slow start. As each company passed the pyres they stopped and the soldiers bowed their heads in respect to their fallen comrades. Underlying the sadness and the fear burned a fierce determination – the people who had ordered this horror must never be allowed dominion in Gwynedd.

As the afternoon drew to a close, my uncle dropped back to speak to me. It was nice to have some adult conversation as I rode, although we carefully avoided the topic of the funeral pyres we had left smoking behind us at Rengarth. I had hoped to seek his counsel about how best to win Bran over, should the opportunity arise, but I think we both knew that this was hopeless now and his name was never mentioned. He apologised that he would not be able to dine with me that night, for he intended to make his way around the camp, offering such reassurance to the men as he could, praying with them and hearing such confessions as they might wish to make on the eve of battle.

My uncle was tense, having evidently seen much more of the butchery of the Cassani troops than he would have liked, or wished to share with me, and our conversation was sparse and uncomfortable until we drew near Llyndruth Meadows and he returned to the head of the column, and to King Kelson.


	17. Chapter 17

**June 30th - ****Llyndruth Plain**

What a relief it was when the day's travelling was over and we could settle in our tent, expertly erected by my uncle's men. We were as comfortable as could be expected – the furnishings were past their prime, but adequate for our needs, and I would wager that we were far better off than most.

Brendan was exhausted – it had been well after his bedtime when we arrived, and after a day cooped up in a litter he was tearful and troubled, so our first efforts centred round getting him settled.

All around the camp there was activity: tents being set up, fires being built and men checking animals and equipment after a punishing day. The last thing I expected at this hour of the night was a visitor, yet Sister Luke came to fetch me – the Duke of Corwyn was outside the tent with a message from the King, she said.

He seemed on edge, not looking at me as he bowed, and I gave an equally cautious curtsey. "Please come in, Your Grace. Your Deryni reputation will not be enhanced if you are seen standing outside my tent." I meant it to tell him that it mattered not to me what he was – that I was accepting of it.

I immediately excused myself to check on Brendan. If I were to talk with Alaric Morgan in the outer chamber of my tent I wanted to be sure there would be no disturbances from a small boy in the inner. Especially a tired and overwrought small boy. Sister Luke was unpacking and sorting our trunks, so I sat by Brendan's side and under the pretext of brushing some hair away from his face I gently nudged him into a deeper sleep. It was unlikely now that he would wake before morning.

As ever, love and pride surged through me looking down at my sweet boy's face. A traitor's heir he might be, but he was still my child – so precious to me. Suddenly I wanted to see Morgan's reaction to him. Would there be any indication that he would hold the father's treachery against the son? For if he would, he was not the man I hoped him to be.

"He's asleep now, Your Grace. Would you care to look in on him? He's only four, you know, but I'm afraid I'm terribly proud of him."

He followed me into the inner tent. Sister Luke made to leave, but I signed for her to stay. It was unusual to invite a man not one's husband into the sleeping chamber and it were best she were present. He took in every detail as Brendan lay peacefully, beautiful in his slumber. A whirlwind when awake he may be, but my son has the ability to look like a cherub when he sleeps and some of that peacefulness seemed to transfer itself to Morgan, his face softening as he watched my child.

When we returned to the outer chamber the initial conversation was like the opening in a game of cardounet – cautious, feeling for the other's style of play. Our opening gambits were awkward – small talk about our homelands – talking for the sake of talking. And once again he was on edge, pacing as he talked. I watched him, seeing the easy movement that had betrayed him and wondering what it was about this man that had caused such hostility with Bran. I considered for the first time that it might truly have been as one-sided as Bishop Arilan had hinted.

Bran : there was my problem. Everything I said brought us back to Bran. I was hurt and angered by what he had done, confused and guilty about my feelings for this man before me. I had to get the conversation and my own thoughts away from Bran, before I revealed more of myself than I was prepared to show, so I asked Morgan outright what message he had brought from the King. And that was when he asked me about the bodies found at Rengarth earlier, and I spoke without thinking first.

I had only been playing the traitor's wife for a day and already the role was sitting heavily on my shoulders. From the soldiers on the way from Dhassa to my own ladies, I was being isolated. To think that I was being blamed by association, not only for the treachery but for the violation of the dead as well – that was too much to bear.

No, I did _not_ know whether Bran had ordered this atrocity. How could I? I had been with the King's party when they were discovered and I had not seen my husband for weeks. I did not want to believe that Bran was responsible – I was sickened even by the thought that I could have shared my bed with a man who could do this. How dare he suggest that I knew – did the King really think so little of me?

Ah, what was I saying? Had I gone too far? The Duke of Corwyn I had heard about from Bran would surely not tolerate me speaking in this way.

But he seemed taken aback, rather than angry. "Forgive me, my lady, but you misjudge both the King and myself." My outburst had clearly surprised him, but even after his smooth apology, and his assurance that Bran's defection seemed to be on the spur of the moment rather than planned, I took some time to recover myself before risking going on. This man could tie me up in knots – I would have to watch what I said to him.

Far from ending up on safer ground, I found myself talking about my relationship with Bran, and not knowing whether to condemn or to praise him – it hardly seemed fitting that a traitor should be allowed any redeeming features, yet he did, and he was devoted to Brendan if not to me. And I felt sad again for my son, condemned for acts not of his own doing.

But it was not just our future that was uncertain. Morgan himself had much to lose from the outcome of the coming battle. I hardly knew anything of him beyond what Bran had told me and yet Morgan had spoken frankly to me, treating me as an equal rather than as a lady or as a traitor's wife. He was talking to me as I would have wished Bran to, sometimes. So I threw the conversation back at him. He was defined by many people by the plain fact of being Deryni – how comfortable was he with himself? How had he kept going in the face of such overwhelming condemnation and what had it cost him? What had it truly been like to live as a Deryni when the rest of us concealed our nature?

His use of his powers had certainly brought him troubles, and that was tinged with regret, but when I said that he had no cause for regret – that without him and his magic Kelson would have been dead long since he laughed, said, "Forgive me, my lady, but I so rarely encounter a sympathetic stranger that I scarcely know how to behave." How could he still not guess my secret, then? I felt as if I had told him many times over with my words and with my gaze, yet he still could not see it.

When I asked him outright if he was ashamed of what he had done he denied it and said he would do the same over again, and even without truth-reading I could see he meant what he said. That was what I had been waiting for. He had to be openly Deryni and proud of it for him to be what our people needed – a champion for our kind. And it was at that moment that I decided to trust him as he had trusted me.

For this was it. Tomorrow Gwynedd and Torenth would do battle, and either Bran or Morgan would not survive, for if Wencit prevailed it was certain that Morgan would not be allowed to live. I thought I had read Morgan aright – that he had experienced the same attraction – so I had to take a chance. This was possibly my one try at happiness - of being true to myself. If I missed this opportunity I knew I would wonder about it and regret it for the rest of my life. I searched carefully for the words that would take me one step closer to happiness, or dash my hopes forever.

"My lord, may I make a confession to you?"

"I'm not your priest, my lady." He seemed to have relaxed at last as he stood there, with that half-smile playing about his lips.

Well thanks heavens for that, at least! Bad enough for me to have fallen in love with a man not my husband, without him wearing a cassock as well.

There was a connection between us – something I had not experienced before. I felt it at Saint Torin's and I thought he felt it too. I was willing to stake everything on him feeling it too...

I took a breath and poured out what I needed to say. Then as he stared in astonishment, I blurted out, "Please don't look at me that way, my lord!"

For the first time, his composure wavered, and I got a quick impression of shock, amazement and maybe, hope, and then he was as self-possessed as before.

"My lady, we must not."

My love, I am not asking you to set your honour aside for me – I have honour of my own. Just give me hope for the future, or I have no hope at all.

And then he reminded me that I was still married to Bran and had a son by him, and that he might have to kill Bran tomorrow. Did he really think that wasn't at the front of my mind, too?

I did not want to wish my son fatherless, but if Gwynedd prevailed as I truly prayed and hoped then my husband would die, and if Torenth then in all likelihood my son and I would die. For would Wencit stop at killing conquered Deryni men or would Brendan and I suffer the same fate even if Bran was a trusted henchman now? And would Wencit truly trust a man who had deserted his king so readily – I thought not. Once a turncoat...

All these thoughts came tumbling out, and I told him that even if he killed Bran I would not, could not, hate him. And then I heard myself say...

"You are my heart."

There, I had said it, and the words hung in the air between us. But still he refused to see what was so clear to me.

"Oh Jesú, you must not say these things. We must not, we _dare_ not..."

"Oh, must I spell it out?"

I felt as if I stood on the edge of a precipice. I could not see what lay below me – a safe landing or to be dashed on rocks below – and yet I had to take that leap of faith. I had to step off that cliff and find out if my feelings were truly returned or if I had misread all that had gone before. This was the moment when I would put my trust in this man and reveal my family as Deryni. I had to share my secret with him and see if he was truly the man I hoped and thought him to be.

I took one of his hands in mine - his was so tanned next to the fairness of mine - and gently kissed its back, my lips just grazing his skin. He flinched with surprise but made no move to pull away, watching me intently. I took his other hand – his sword hand, I realised from the harder skin on the palm - and opened myself to rapport, dropping my shields and reaching out to make contact with him in a way more intimate than words could ever be. He hesitated for a moment and then his shields fell away too.

My thoughts wound joyously into his, showing him my true self in a way I had never shared with any man, and every nerve tingled with the excitement of it. And he reciprocated, hesitantly at first, then with a joy and wonder to match my own. Mere moments could have passed, or hours, but we might as well have been the only people in the world. And as we joined in that wonderful sharing of thoughts and feelings, we both knew that we had found our match – the one we had truly wished for. Our hearts soared with the joy of it, getting to know each other more completely in those few heartbeats than humans could manage in years.

_I have been waiting all my life for you,_ I sent to him.

_And I you_, he replied.

Just as I thought I would weep as the joy became almost too much to bear, he released my hands and stepped away, looking at me in astonishment at what had just passed between us. Then his gaze left mine, and he spoke of his responsibilities, and of Bran, and of the chance that my husband could die at his hand tomorrow. But I knew that I loved him, and that he loved me and that was all that mattered.

And heaven help me, but I knew that when he rode off the following morning I would be praying for him to prevail, even if it meant Bran's death. For him to return to me it _must_ mean Bran's death, either on the battlefield or a traitor's death afterwards. So if by chance Alaric should meet Bran face to face on that battlefield, however unlikely that might be, I could not blame him if he did what he had to do.

But if the unthinkable happened – if it were Bran Coris who rode back to me across Llyndruth Plain – I would have had these wonderful few moments, but I would spend the rest of my life loving and grieving for Alaric Morgan. And even the thought of that brought my heart close to breaking.

The sound of guards saluting interrupted us and Alaric stepped into the doorway to greet his cousin Father McLain. I was glad he blocked me from view for I was still shaken and trembling from the intensity of our mind link. I could only marvel at how calm he was to be, his emotions back under control already, outwardly at least. He was needed already – his responsibilities called him. He looked back at me and sent a silent farewell in his glance, then bowed and turned to leave.

I almost fell into one of the camp chairs, reliving over and over what had just happened, and wondering how much Sister Luke had heard or understood. And as I sat, I prayed – for Alaric, and for Brendan and for me – and stored the memory of those few precious moments in a special place in my heart.


	18. Chapter 18

**July 1st - ****Llyndruth Plain**

Brendan sleepily reached out his arms for one last cuddle before bedtime. One final kiss from those rosebud lips and I would have to make him lie down to go to sleep, but he looked past me towards the curtain of the sleeping area and was instantly wide awake again. His little face lit up and he pulled off the sleeping furs, bouncing up onto his knees on his sleeping pallet.

"Papa? Have you come to tell me a story?"

I whirled round. If Bran was here we were all in danger.

A figure stood in the doorway, starting to retreat as if embarrassed to be caught watching us. Too tall for Bran, thank God. Alaric? Heavens, how long had he been there watching? Had he slipped in past Sister Luke?

Ah well, Brendan was out of bed and awake again, so I took him up in my arms. My word but my boy was growing fast - he was getting heavy for me to lift. His bare legs dangled as I took him, clad just in his nightgown, closer to where Alaric was standing, still part concealed by the curtain.

"No dear, that isn't your father. That's Duke Alaric."

Brendan regarded Alaric seriously, and then looked at me for reassurance as children do, for confirmation that this stranger was no danger to him. I smiled encouragingly and he gave Alaric his appraising look – the one he always gives to new people, which looks like he is sizing them up and memorising every detail about them. A look that I had seen on Bran's face many times before. Brendan may look a lot like me, but he has many of his father's ways and mannerisms.

I prodded Brendan a little to remember his manners – Alaric had been suitably taken with Brendan the night before and I didn't want any slip ups tonight to damage his view of my son. How ever was I to get Brendan off to sleep now? His routine had been well and truly disturbed and he was unlikely to be keen to get back into bed while there was a visitor in the tent. I didn't like to _make_ him sleep too frequently, although that was certainly a useful talent when necessary.

Alaric asked Brendan if he thought I might sing for him again. Was that what had drawn him in? In truth, I was a little embarrassed that he had overheard me. I have heard better singing voices than mine, and plenty much worse, but that song had been meant for Brendan's ears, not Alaric's.

So I was quietly amused when Brendan asked him for a story. That clearly wasn't quite what Alaric had planned to happen - serve him right! But then he looked so awkward that I quite took pity on him. I gave Brendan a little hug and said, "Perhaps another time, dear. His grace has had a very busy day, and I'm afraid he's too tired to tell stories to little boys tonight."

I sent up a little prayer that it wouldn't result in an overtired tantrum from Brendan, but to my surprise Alaric settled himself beside the bed to play the storyteller and Brendan was back into bed and tucked up in no time. Mothers are all very well, but someone new with a fresh supply of stories is a rare treat.

Alaric ducked Brendan's request for a story about Bran so neatly that Brendan didn't even realise he had been outmanoeuvred, although my heart missed a beat at my son's unfortunate choice. I watched them from a distance. They looked so comfortable together, with the blond head and the red-gold one close together, sharing the moment.

"One day Nightwind got out of his paddock and ..."

Alaric kept his voice low so I heard little of the tale, but it was entertaining just watching their faces. Brendan was clearly enchanted by this story of Kelson's childhood, his gleeful giggles pealing like chimes over the pony's antics and Alaric, well into his stride now, was obviously enjoying it too. I reminded myself that Alaric had been a friend of Brion's since before Kelson's birth and wondered if he had been required to tell the young Haldane prince stories on occasion – it certainly didn't seem as though it was unfamiliar territory to him. Alaric Morgan was a man of many surprises, it appeared.

I remembered watching Bran at Brendan's bedside, and felt that familiar tug at my heartstrings at the thought that Brendan might never see his papa again. If it came to it, would he accept another in his place?

Brendan drifted off, the story still unfinished, and Alaric watched him, content to sit a while at his side while he slept. Alaric had a curious look on his face, and I wondered what he was thinking - what he saw in my boy that made him so pensive. He stretched out a hand, gently touching Brendan's forehead and then turned to meet my gaze as I stood in the doorway.

He held his hand out and I went to him – after last night it seemed natural, even right, to be hand in hand. He was carefully shielded and I sensed that he did not want to risk a repeat of the mind link we had experienced the previous evening, which had taken us both onto dangerous ground. We had shared those feelings and accepted them, but for now they must be carefully shuttered away.

"He's Deryni, my lady, you know that."

"I know."

Of course I knew. Since that first touch of his mind when he was born, I had checked Brendan frequently, not knowing whether to be sad or glad when I detected the first vestiges of shields in his mind.

"He's much like I was at that age, innocent, vulnerable. I know the risks involved, but he must be trained. His secret cannot remain forever, and he must have the means to protect himself."

So he was seeing himself in my son. I supposed they were similar in many respects, each with a Deryni mother and human father. From our brief rapport the previous night I knew that Alaric was powerful, but only partly trained at best. I was determined to see my son well trained in the Deryni ways, and I wondered how Alaric had received his training as a child. I knew so little about this man, save that he had stolen my heart. But I did know that Alaric's father had been a king's man through and through, where my son was the son of a traitor. So similar, and yet so different.

We left Brendan to sleep – Alaric stepping outside first so that I could make sure Brendan was comfortable and give him a last kiss goodnight. Sister Luke was busying herself in the outer chamber, and I wondered how much she had seen or heard of what had gone on. It would have been a charming family tableau, had the man in the bedchamber been my husband. At least she could hardly suspect us of anything dishonourable with a four year old present.

Sister Luke had looked out goblets and wine and by the time I left Brendan and returned to him Alaric had helped himself. He handed me one of the goblets.

Thoughts of Bran were still on his mind, as they were on mine. "Bran must die. You know that."

I know. I can hardly think of anything else. "What will become of us, Alaric? What will become of all of us?" My hand trembled and the fear crept in. Fear for him, and for Brendan and me. We had been terrified earlier when noise erupted from the lines, and we had clung to each other for comfort, fearing the worst.

"We were scared this morning. All that noise - the yelling and the banging of shields – we thought it was the battle starting." I stared into the wine, remembering the stomach-churning fear I had experienced at those voices raised in anger. I wondered how he could bear to be at the front of it, knowing what was to come. "It suddenly struck me how stupid I had been, bringing Brendan here. If things go badly when the battle comes, anything could happen to him."

"Battle won't come. At least, not in the way you mean. There were parleys today, with Wencit and his henchmen, and things have changed a lot since last night."

His henchmen? I had to ask the next question, but I couldn't meet Alaric's gaze while I asked it.

"Did you see Bran?"

"Yes, I saw him," I could feel him looking steadily at me, "he was with Wencit at the parley."

"How did he seem to you?" and then softly, "Did he say anything about me?"

"No, my lady. Bran didn't say anything about you."

Why did I get the feeling that he wasn't telling me everything? His body language was tense and he was picking his words carefully, almost as if he were worried that I would truth read him. I was in no mood to play games with him.

"Alaric, there is something you aren't telling me. If it's something about Brendan or me I need to know. Why did you say battle wouldn't come the way I expected it? People here hardly even want to speak to me, so when you visit you can at least tell me what is happening out there. Anything that affects you affects me too, after last night, so don't say it's nothing to do with me."

He looked startled by my outburst, and moved to take my hand gently in his own.

"Richenda, I'm sorry. I can't get away any more than I do. And the king needs me."

"I know that, and I don't expect you to take time away from your duties to see me. But you _are_ here now and you're still not telling me anything." I took a deep breath and looked entreatingly up at him. "Please, Alaric."

The tense shoulders slumped slightly, and he took a long draught of his wine. He went to refill his goblet and waved the flagon at me in question, but I shook my head. I had barely touched mine.

"A lot happened today, and not much of it was good. We rode out to a parley with Rhydon of Eastmarch and Lionel, Wencit's brother-in-law, but we didn't agree to... what they proposed. They brought my aide the Earl of Derry out to parade him as a prisoner."

So this was the sadness I detected in him, was it? The loss of a friend.

"As we returned to our ranks they executed some prisoners." He sighed. "Richenda, one of them was Duncan's father, Duke Jared of Cassan. He was taken prisoner after the battle at Rengarth. They hanged him, Richenda - him and many other noblemen - right in full view of our lines. That was what the noise was about, to start with." He took another long draught of wine.

"Did they... did they hang Lord Derry?"

"They didn't get the chance. I rode Lionel and Rhydon down and snatched him from under their noses."

"You did _what_?"

"Rush of blood to the head, I suppose." A rueful grin. "Don't look at me like that, my lady. Kelson had a few choice words for me in private afterwards. I wasn't going to let Wencit do that to him though. Derry deserves better."

"So what happens now?"

"There won't be a battle - at least, not a normal one. It will be settled by a duel arcane. Four on each side, to the death, winner takes all."

"So that will be you and Kelson and Duncan and... Uncle Thomas?" In the absence of a fourth Deryni, my uncle was the most senior clergyman with us.

He shook his head. "Denis Arilan. And on the other side Wencit, Lionel, Rhydon and Bran."

So my worst fears would be realised. Rather than Alaric and my husband fighting on opposing armies, they would be facing each other across a warded circle. How would things be between us if Alaric had to kill Bran, not with a sword in his hand, but by Deryni magic? So much riding on these eight men.

The end game approached. One king would soon be toppled, but where would we be at the start of the next game? Lined up or swept off the board?

Let us at least have this one moment, I thought. Even if this is all I have of him, it will have been worth it. I met Alaric's gaze and could tell that he was feeling the same way, and all thoughts of keeping an honourable distance crumbled away.

A brush from his mind, of longing and needing. He was close now – closer than he had ever been. My whole body trembled as his lips met mine, gently at first and then more urgently. The light in the tent dimmed as our minds touched despite our best intentions, making my head spin and leaving me breathless. Nothing had ever been like this before – so intense, so perfect - and I felt safe and secure for those moments in his arms. In that instant I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wanted this man - whatever had to take place for that to happen.

I don't know who drew back first, but we stared intently at each other, each shaken and overwhelmed by our feelings. I knew he wanted to stay, and I wanted him to, so desperately, but we both knew that things must be done correctly, with no stain to either's honour, and that we had already gone as far as we dared, and further than we should.

My heart was still pounding as he held my hands in his and gently kissed my fingertips, sending shivers through me once again, and I knew he was about to leave.

_Come back to me_. Please God, let him come safely back to me.

_I intend to. _A hint of amusement in my mind.

I was amazed how natural mindspeak was with him.

_I'm sorry, I have to go._

One last mental caress and he turned and quietly left.

So it ends tomorrow, one way or the other. God help us all.


	19. Chapter 19

**July 1st (later) - ****Llyndruth Plain**

How was it possible for a person to be more at peace, yet more mixed-up than ever? I knew I loved Alaric, and was now allowing myself to believe that he loved me, yet the situation with Bran confused me so much.

Did my first loyalty lie with my husband, or with my King? If Bran had gone over to Wencit some other way, taking Brendan and me to Torenth and rejecting his oath to Kelson, I would have been duty bound to go with him. Yet for it to happen like this, in blood and treachery... would Brendan and I ever be trusted again, or were we destined to live with Bran's taint?

I went to check on Brendan. He was my one constant in this upheaval and I was his, and nothing and no-one could be more important than him.

There was a noise outside – surely not Alaric back again? A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, but not tall enough to be Alaric. I had a moment of blind fear, then realised that the guards would have challenged an intruder - he must be known to them. "Who are you? Have you a message for me?"

The man dropped to one knee and explained that he was Lord Derry, Alaric's aide. I was hugely relieved - of course, the friend that Alaric had risked so much to save. He told me that Lord Warin was ill and would I attend him as Alaric could not. I thought it strange that I was being called upon to help, for I am no physician, but maybe I was the only person of any standing with no role to play that night. Derry said that Warin was feverish and delirious – heaven knew my last attempt at treating a fever had not gone well, but maybe this time would be different.

Although it was the height of summer, the night was cool and I fastened a cloak about myself and prepared to leave with Lord Derry, but he hesitated. He asked if we could bring Brendan, that the King was concerned that Wencit would try to snatch him if he were left unattended.

I shivered, despite the cloak. It hadn't even occurred to me that my boy might be in danger while he slept. Oh my poor baby. Yes, I must keep him with me. Bran would certainly be anxious to get his son back, and if he were capable of impaling bodies on spikes, a kidnap was surely not beyond him.

I wrapped Brendan in a fur-lined cloak, nudging him into deeper sleep – using magic again despite myself. Heshould sleep till morning now, whatever went on around him. I certainly didn't want to have to deal with a four year old while I nursed a sick man. Lord Derry offered to carry him, and I was grateful for that, as asleep Brendan is a dead weight and he was heavy for me to carry any distance.

We ducked inside the royal pavilion and Derry gently placed Brendan on a pile of furs in the centre of the room. Strange that the furs were in the middle of the floor – wouldn't Brendan have been less in the way off to one side? Still, maybe he wanted to keep him well away from Warin, in case of contagion.

I crossed to Warin to see what I could do for him. For someone in a delirium and with a fever, he was still and lying awkwardly. Rhiannon had tossed and turned in her fever until near the end – something I would never forget. I reached out to feel his brow, and stared as I saw that he was bound and gagged. Something was very, very wrong and my son and I were somehow involved in it.

My questions froze on my lips. The feel of magic prickled down my spine and suddenly Derry had a glow around him, like a Deryni aura – but surely he was not Deryni? Then my heart missed a beat as I felt it - energy accumulating around Brendan. I screamed at Derry, sweet heavens, he had put Brendan on a transfer portal! They were trying to kidnap my son, and Derry was helping them. They had got me to bring him here with the story of a possible kidnap, and they were stealing him right out from under my nose.

I threw myself at Brendan. Maybe I could somehow stop it - bend the energies back, so that the portal would stabilise. I wasn't sure how long I could hold it like that, had indeed never attempted anything of the kind before, but it was worth a try. I could feel the twist of the energy as whoever was at the other end tried to get through, but I forced it to stop, crouching over Brendan while I struggled to keep him with me. At least if Brendan were taken I should be with him – they couldn't take him and leave me here alone.

That all took just an instant, and then I felt arms roughly around me, dragging me away. In my panic I tried to scream Brendan's name, horribly aware that by deepening his sleep I had thwarted my own attempts to waken him. A hand clamped over my mouth smothering my frantic cries and my only hope now was that the disturbance had alerted guards in the area.

Thank heavens, a guard looked through the flap of the tent, and saw me struggling in Derry's arms, but I knew by then that it was too late. I felt the surge of energy as the portal activated and saw a man appear in the circle –Wencit? Lionel? Then another figure materialised, and this time it was one that I knew so well. Bran bent over Brendan and picked him up.

He was taking Brendan away from me, and he didn't intend for me to get him back.

"No! Bran, no!"

Bran could not have my child! I was prepared to do anything to protect him, however forbidden, however it might endanger me and mine.

I had never been taught what I did next, but instinct, rage and a terrible fear showed me how to send a killing blast. I summoned all my energy and pointed at Bran, directing all the power at my disposal towards him. I would have killed him, I know that, if I could. I would have killed my own husband to keep my child, but Derry pulled me away so I could not direct the energy and the blast never reached its target. When I looked up the circle was empty and Bran and Brendan had gone. I gave one last, despairing cry –

"Brendan!"

The guards pulled Derry from me and I ran to the transfer portal, desperately seeking outwards for my son. I tried to sense the pattern for the destination portal, so that I could follow him, but with no success. Then I cast my mind out as far as I could for some hint of Brendan, but I couldn't find him –his mind was just too young or they had taken him too far away from me.

Then shock and loss overcame me and I sat on the furs and wept. I was aware of Kelson and others entering in the tent, and through my despair I sobbed, "Do not approach me, Sire. There is evil in this circle. They have taken away my son, and I cannot find him." I heard Alaric saying "They've taken Brendan?" but everything else was a blur of hurt and loss.

Denis Arilan swiftly came to lift me off the floor, raising me gently, and Father Duncan led me away from the portal. I suddenly realised that when Derry pulled me away and the energy blast went astray I could have hit Brendan instead, and the horror of what I might have done made my legs buckle beneath me. Heaven help me, I could have killed my own child! Father Duncan wrapped comforting arms around me and held me while I cried, there on the floor beside the king's bed.

Everything was confused then. I knew others were present in the pavilion - I could hear voices, was half aware that I could hear Alaric and Bishop Arilan speaking. A light flared and I could feel magic being worked near me as the transfer portal was destroyed, and then there was the sound of a scuffle close by. But all I was truly aware of was my loss and my hurt, and that I had tried to kill to protect my son. The pain of his loss was almost physical, and I curled closer into Father Duncan's embrace. I had lost my daughter, and now had my other child stolen from me, and I truly felt in that moment as though I had nothing left to live for.

As the flurry of activity in the pavilion died away, and calm returned, I felt Father Duncan loosen his hold on me slightly, and he spoke gently to me. "My lady?"

"I've done a terrible thing, Father. I've done a terrible thing, and I can't even ask your forgiveness, because I'd do it again, if I had the chance."

ven now I could hardly believe that I had tried to kill my husband. I had not thought, only acted, although I could admit to myself that if the opportunity arose again, even after time to reflect on the act, I would do the same thing again. If Bran had wanted to rescue us, I was sure, he could have contrived to have Derry get both of us onto that transfer portal. But no, this was no rescue - this had been a kidnap. He wanted Brendan, not me and like Rhiannon I had proved expendible.

Father Duncan tried to reassure me that I could not blame myself for anything that had happened. He was so kind, and I felt I could trust him. I needed to confess what I had done, and if what I had heard was true then he was Deryni too. Surely he would understand what I had attempted, if anyone would.

So I told him that I had tried to kill Bran, and when he realised what I meant he eased us further away from the others in the tent and continued in an urgent whisper. "My lady, are you Deryni?"

I nodded. Aware that as I did so, I broke the faith again that I had held with my father and brothers. Now two people knew our secret, but I was sure that these cousins would not betray my trust in them. Indeed, after so many years of hiding, it had become a relief to share my secret with someone who understood.

"Does Bran know?"

"He does now." Oh, what irony. That I should have kept my secret so carefully from him for all these years, and reveal it in such spectacular fashion. I wondered what Wencit's reaction had been when they got back to their portal and he had time to absorb the fact that Bran's wife had used Deryni magic against them. Had I signed my own death warrant?

Then I realised that I had to confess all, not least to myself. That I hadn't just tried to kill Bran to save Brendan. That at least in part I had tried to kill him because of my feelings for Alaric. I could tell the tears were trying to flow again.

I started to tell Father Duncan of my feelings for Alaric, and his for me, and as I spoke I wondered if I was even making sense. The words tumbled out one after the other, and I hardly knew what I was saying. It was a jumble of my feelings, my guilt for loving another and my confusion over Bran. I finally admitted, as I had not done even to myself, that I wanted Bran dead, so that Alaric and I could have a future together.

And then the enormity of what I had just admitted hit me, and I cried again. This time for Alaric and me and the situation in which we found ourselves. And again the anguish wrenched at the pit of my stomach – my son is taken.

Father Duncan drew me close once more and eased us to sit on the king's bed. I sensed him thinking over what I had just said. Had he realised what had been developing between Alaric and me, or had this been a bolt from the blue for him? And how could he advise me, knowing that his cousin's honour but also his happiness hung in the balance? He was showing the equanimity of the priest, though, not reacting or chastising, merely hearing me out, however hysterical I might sound to him.

At last a bleak peacefulness came over me, and at least some composure returned. I felt so lonely, an empty shell, as if I had no tears left to shed. I was aware now of Alaric, the king and Bishop Arilan, crouched around a motionless Derry and I could have reached out for Alaric so easily, but I was not ready to share how I felt yet, even with him. I had told Father Duncan much of what I had to say, but I needed to do it formally, under the seal of the confessional and to fully acknowledge the thoughts and actions of the past few days, and be forgiven.

"Have you forgotten that I am suspended, my lady?"

Did he truly still believe that? What was holding him back from resuming his office? Uncle Cardiel had maintained that since the penance in Dhassa, and Alaric and Father Duncan being received back into the church, that there should be no barrier to him resuming his priestly functions – that the only impediment was in Father Duncan's own mind. I said as much to him, wondering briefly what he thought of the fact that I had obviously discussed him with my uncle. Could it be the Deryni issue that was stopping him taking his duties back up again?

His next question confirmed that to me. "Does the fact that I am Deryni mean nothing to you?"

Oh, Father Duncan, it means everything to me. It means that I can confess to someone who truly understands some of the conflict and uncertainty in my life. Someone who understands my fears for my son, my difficulty living with a human husband and my years of concealment. You of all people would understand having to deny who you really are.

For did it matter that he was now known to be Deryni? If he had had an honest vocation, and had been a good priest, then why should his exposure as Deryni have changed that?

So I knelt before him and crossed myself. And as I clasped my hands and began to whisper all the secrets that had been a burden on my heart I felt that this confession might help the priest as much as the sinner.


	20. Chapter 20

**July 2nd - ****Llyndruth Plain**

I didn't sleep much that night. The tent felt so lonely with only Sister Luke and me there, and Brendan's empty bed, the bedclothes still rumpled since neither of us had the heart to straighten them, was a constant reminder of my missing child.

I prayed that Brendan was with Bran, and safe. My darkest fear was that Bran and the rest had spirited him away deep into Torenth and I would never see him again, even if Gwynedd triumphed. My instinct was that Bran would want to keep Brendan close to him, but the worry still gnawed away at me.

As the night wore on I dozed fitfully, vivid dreams waking me shaking and troubled. The camp started to stir well before dawn, all of the men getting battle ready in case of treachery.

My uncle had been told of Brendan's abduction late the night before, and he had come straight to my tent then to offer me such comfort as he could before retiring. In the morning he celebrated Mass for the king and his closest friends and then returned to pray with me. He guessed what this would cost me with my husband on one side, my own loyalty on the other and my poor child caught in the middle. He could never have guessed the full extent of my warring emotions, though – my worst nightmare made real, with my husband and Alaric to face each other in magical combat.

The army was arrayed in its battle lines when I rode out with Uncle Cardiel to await the departure of our combatants. Everyone was edgy. The air was heavy, and the sun had risen blood red that morning. Many had muttered of omens but for like as not the Torenthis also watched the skies anxiously. It was cool for a July morning, and all were wrapped in cloaks, gazing anxiously across the plain to where the Torenthi forces were camped. We knew that similar preparations must be afoot there – did Bran have Brendan with him? Had he told him anything of what had happened? What reason had he given for why I was no longer with him? I prayed that I would see my son again before the day was out.

We heard the shouts – "God save King Kelson" – before we saw the combatants. The four of them unarmoured, as is the rule for formal duel arcane, and looking composed, if tense as they rode forward, Alaric to the king's right, with Father Duncan beside him, and Bishop Arilan to the king's left. A thought kept nagging at my mind –was Bishop Arilan there to provide the support of the church in the absence of a fourth Deryni, or was it possible that he could be Deryni also? Could we both have been keeping a secret, all those times in Dhassa?

I couldn't bear to look at Alaric as he passed me on his white destrier. I wanted my last true memory of him, if that was what it was to be, to be of his kiss before he left the previous night. I did risk a glance at Father McLain and with my look I silently begged him to come back safely and bring my son and my love back with him.

As the four rode out we fell in behind and rode a little way out with them, then they and their squires rode on. They dismounted and the squires brought their horses back to wait with us for the conclusion of the duel.

From over the hill to the north came four riders, dressed in white and gold and riding white horses – surely the Camberian Council? Most trained Deryni have heard at least a rumour of the council, but I had never knowingly seen a council member, certainly not in his or her official capacity.

The council members went to their compass points and raised the wards – a huge protective dome over the combatants and themselves, to protect those of us on the outside from any stray magic, but also cutting us off visually from them, so until the dome was dispersed we would be without any idea of what was happening within.

If we had thought the tension was high before, losing sight of Kelson and the others increased the stress even more. We had no idea what was happening – were they fighting already? Were there casualties? Was Bran alive yet? And Alaric, how did he fare? Were they trading spells, checking each other out, or was the inside of the dome alight with flame and energy?

The time dragged – minutes lasted for hours as the battle presumably raged hidden from us within the dome yonder. Each breath seemed an effort as we watched apprehensively, our tension conveying itself to our mounts. How much longer would we have to wait to learn our fates? I had been on the inside of a warded circle many times, but rarely on the outside waiting anxiously while magic was performed and it was frustrating that we could see no hint at all of what was happening within. No flashes or blaze of light betrayed magical powers being used, and still the circle glowed resolutely across the plain, concealing its secrets.

The men grew restless behind us, shifting foot to foot and muttering uneasily, even more in the dark than I. They understood battle – the clash of metal on metal, the squeal of injured horses, the moans of dying men and the ground slick with blood – but that the fate of two countries was being determined within this shining dome was incomprehensible to them and they were all on edge.

The company commanders started to ride back and forward, urging them to hold fast and maintain their readiness in case the Torenthi forces should advance. I had no doubt that Kelson would keep his word, if the duel went our way, but would Wencit? Nothing I had heard or seen of the Torenthi king thus far gave me much faith in his promises.

Without warning the ward circle dispersed. My uncle leaned forward, murmuring a prayer to himself and I gripped tight to my reins, knowing that the next few moments would reveal our fate. I sat rigid on my horse, barely daring to blink as I stared towards the combat area. My blood had turned to a river of ice and I shook as I watched and waited.

When we saw Kelson and his companions emerge from the circle a little sob escaped me and I bowed my head and gasped "Praise God." Yes, all four were safe and standing in a huddle waiting for the squires to bring their horses. A rumble of speculation spread through the soldiers behind us – they were unsure exactly what was happening and reluctant to celebrate prematurely.

The squires rode out and Kelson rode to us, mounted this time on Alaric's white and carrying the Haldane banner, with the other three behind him. He stood in his stirrups and raised the banner aloft, prompting a roar of approval from the Gwynedd troops.

Alaric rode up beside him and they exchanged a few words, apparently reminding Kelson that he should go and accept the surrender of the Torenthis. A detail of men formed up from the Carthmoor and Corwyn lines to support the king and his companions. The group turned and rode across the divide between the two armies, our men still bellowing their triumph, stamping their feet and smashing weapons to shields in a deafening din of victory.

At last I breathed more easily. I had seen him and he was safe, although he had not looked for me, caught up as he was in the aftermath of the combat and absorbed in his concern for the King.

And then I realised. Bran is dead.

No-one could leave the circle until all of one side were dead, so my husband even now was lying there, where the circle had been.

I began to tremble, the reaction to the events of the morning finally taking its toll. I swayed in the saddle and put my hand to my forehead, suddenly shaking and distraught. My uncle drew close to me. "Richenda, are you all right?"

I nodded, barely keeping my emotions under control. He placed a hand on my arm, his face close to mine, concerned for me. "You are so pale, child. Did you eat this morning?" I hadn't. My stomach had churned when Sister Luke brought me breakfast, and I had pushed it away untouched, unable to think of eating. "Come, Richenda. I know this is hard on you, but you must look after yourself, my dear. Let's go back to your tent." His voice was gentle but I could hear the worry in it. I supposed he was taking my reaction as grief for Bran.

But I wouldn't move, stubbornly remaining where I was, staring intently out towards the bright banners and plumes of the Torenthi army. Brendan was out there somewhere and I cast desperately out for him once more, to no avail, tears pricking my eyes. The Torenthi lines were no more than a half mile from us, but it felt like half a world away.

When Uncle Thomas saw that I was not to be moved, he spoke quietly to a squire, who returned with bread and cheese and a cup of small ale which my uncle gently urged me to eat, not allowing me to refuse this time. I ate and drank numbly, still staring into the distance, the churning of my stomach gradually stilling with food inside it.

The time crawled by. The horses grew restless and so did the men, shifting and grumbling in their places, unable yet to fully celebrate victory and a peaceful return to their families and loved ones.

I wondered what was happening across the plain. Surely Father Duncan would be concerned with reclaiming his father's body and those of the other Cassan men executed the previous day and securing the release of the other hostages. The Torenthi commanders would be consulted in due course to arrange the dispersal of their forces back to their own lands and I was sure that the Marley men would be held for a time while Kelson established who would take command there, now that Bran was gone. So many military and political decisions to be made, affecting so many people, but all I was concerned with was the fate of one small boy – a pawn in the game, but the most important piece for me.

Then as I stared, a figure set out from the Torenthi lines. He was clad all in black, on a black horse, and as he came closer still I could make out a tiny figure in front of him. I slid from my horse, my uncle dismounting beside me. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and I stood with my hands clasped to my lips, hoping against hope that Brendan was safe.

Alaric rode towards us as fast as he dared with his precious passenger clasped firmly to him. Brendan's red gold hair shone in the morning sun, and I thought he had never looked as beautiful to me. Alaric passed my son down to a squire and dismounted himself, then he came to me with my sweet boy held safely on one hip. "My lady," he bowed slightly and lowered his voice. "He is unharmed, if a little confused."

"Thank you, my lord Alaric." It came out as little more than a whisper, and I could feel the tears running down my cheeks, as I clasped my son so tightly to me that I thought I would never again let him go.

As Alaric set off to return to the king's side, I was touched that his first thought had been of Brendan, yet aware of the distance there had been between us in that moment. I knew in my heart that that had not been the occasion to address what had just happened and that he needed time to absorb what had occurred in that circle before sharing it with me. In time I would know, I was sure, but neither of us were ready to share that just yet.

Brendan wrapped his arms snugly round my neck. "Why are you crying, Mama?" He was pale and tired-looking. I wondered what he had experienced and what lasting effects it might have had on him.

Uncle Thomas took me gently by the elbow, guiding me back to our camp and into my tent. I carried Brendan in my arms, and this time his weight was precious, rather than a burden. Uncle Thomas left me with Brendan, assuring me that he would be back soon, after he had seen the King. Sister Luke hugged Brendan warmly, tears on that dear lady's face too, and then discreetly left us.

Brendan was ravenously hungry, as usual, and his first thought was for food. Then we cuddled up on my bed and he chatted for some time about his trip back to the camp on the big horse. I hoped that this would be his main impression of the whole affair, but he wriggled free of my arms, turned his face up to mine and said, "I saw Papa. Where is he? And where is the nasty man that scared me?"

I put a finger to his lips to shush him and wondered briefly whether to remove his memories of the past few hours. "The nasty man is gone, Brendan. He won't scare you any more." I wrapped him in my arms and held him as tight as I could while I wondered what the right words would be to tell a little boy that his papa was not coming home. Thankfully, for now, reassurance and half an answer sufficed for him, and he snuggled back down into my embrace.

Uncle Thomas returned shortly, so anticipating the way the conversation might go, I asked Sister Luke to mind Brendan in the inner tent. After my uncle had asked after me, and reassured himself that Brendan was none the worse for his experience, he turned the conversation to my future plans.

"I want you to know that you are welcome in Dhassa for as long as you care to remain there, my dear. I don't know if you have thought much beyond today, but I have enjoyed having you and Brendan there, and I'm sure Denis would miss his cardounet opponent, if you left."

"I haven't considered it, Uncle. I suppose my choices are Dhassa or Rheljan or Marley, although I'm not sure I want to return to Marley quite yet..." Bran's face suddenly flashed before me, and I wondered what had happened to his body. "What has been done with... the Torenthi combatants?"

"Wencit and Lionel have been reclaimed by the Torenthis, to be returned to Beldour for burial. I am sure that the king will want Denis or me to arrange a simple ceremony for Rhydon, and I expect him to be buried where he fell." He glanced over at me, gauging my reaction, and picked his words carefully for the next part. "I could ask Kelson for Bran to be returned home, if you wish it. He may not agree, but he is sympathetic to you and Brendan, for the most part, and he might be inclined to be lenient."

"No, let him lie there too. I wish no special treatment for him – he made his own choices."

Uncle Thomas nodded slowly. "Would you wish to attend the funeral?"

"I will, Uncle, but I think Brendan will not. He is resilient, as small children tend to be, but I would rather he was somewhere familiar before I explain to him what has happened.

"Of course, my dear. I shall inform the King. In fact, I shall go now, in case anything is done without your knowledge. I shall return shortly. In the meantime, I suggest you enjoy that son of yours – I can't tell you how relieved I am that he is safe." And with a squeeze of my hand and a quick smile, he ducked out of the tent and was gone.


	21. Chapter 21

**July 2nd - ****Llyndruth Plain**

Would I have been summoned anyway, or did Uncle Thomas remind Kelson of my presence? Either way, a squire soon appeared at my tent to escort me to the King's pavilion. Sister Luke took charge of Brendan once more promised to take him for a walk around the area occupied by the ecclesiastical armies – the poor boy was going crazy cooped up in a tent for so long.

Kelson was dictating a letter as I was shown in, his clerk writing feverishly as the young king paced the room, his circlet discarded on the desk nearby. "...second day of July 1121 and so on and so forth."

I sank into a deep curtsey as I entered and Kelson broke from his pacing to say, "My lady Richenda, pray excuse me a moment – I have riders ready to take these letters and I want them on their way as soon as possible. Please, take a seat."

The second day of July? I counted the days in my head. Yes, it must be. I had forgotten the date in the whirlwind of events of the last few days. What fate had made Bran meet his death on the day that Rhiannon would have had her second birthday? My eyes brimmed with tears and my throat constricted with the effort of suppressing them. I would not cry in front of the King – I simply wouldn't.

"So that's Duke Ewan notified of today's events," said Kelson returning to his clerk. He signed the letter, adding his elaborate flourish at the bottom. "Make a copy for Rhemuth before you seal it and bring the copy back to me for signing. If you would see my squire on your way out and get him to ask His Grace of Corwyn to attend us."

Kelson turned his attention to me. "My lady, before we proceed I want to assure you that today's events were of great personal regret to me. As you know, my father and I both valued Bran's support and counsel. I want you to know that I intend to keep the promises I made regarding Brendan becoming Earl of Marley in due course, and you and he will remain under my personal protection for the time being. I understand that Bishop Cardiel has spoken to you about your immediate plans, and I wanted to reassure you that you won't be rushed into anything. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. You have been more generous than I could have expected, in the circumstances." The kindness in his voice touched me and my own voice wavered as I spoke, bringing me perilously close to the tears I didn't want to shed.

He drew a package wrapped in a cloak from beneath his desk. "This was retrieved from your husband's tent by the Duke of Corwyn. He thought you might want it for Brendan when he is old enough."

I opened the folds of the cloak. Inside were Bran's sword and dagger, with the Marley crest inset into the pommel of each. I was glad they were wrapped – they screamed to me of death and destruction and I would not have wanted to hold them in my bare hands. "Thank you for the thought, sire, but this sword is tainted by the blood of the loyal men of Kierney and Cassan. With your permission, I will take the dagger, for Brendan loved his father dearly, and I would like to have something of Bran's to pass on to him. But he will have his own sword and God willing it will only be used to defend Gwynedd, never to harm her."

Kelson nodded his approval, and picked something up from the table. "We took this from your husband's hand. You will recognise it, I think." The seal of Marley lay on the King's palm. "I shall keep it safe for now. Marley will be taken into crown control pending the establishment of a regency council which I intend you to head on your son's behalf. We shall appoint several good men to assist you."

"Thank you, sire."

"Kelson?" Alaric came into the tent, dishevelled and tired-looking. He appeared briefly surprised to see me, but bowed slightly, "My lady." He wouldn't meet my gaze, and I hardly wanted him to, for fear that he would think my tears were for Bran. I didn't see how Kelson could be unaware of the tension in the air. Bran's death hung between us like a shroud.

"Ah, Morgan. Her ladyship will take the dagger for her son, but she has declined the sword. Could you see to its disposal, please?"

"I believe the burial of Rhydon of Eastmarch and the Earl of Marley is to take place shortly, sire. Maybe the sword could be interred with him?"

Kelson looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded slightly. "So be it, then. Lady Richenda, while I have guaranteed the safety of the majority of the Marley men, you have mentioned the atrocities against Cassan and Kierney yourself. It is entirely possible that some of Bran's commanders were not entirely blameless in these matters. When Morgan retrieved Brendan from the Torenthi camp, your son was in the care of one of Bran's men." He looked at Alaric, who supplied the name.

"Joseph, sire. The Earl of Marley's clerk, I believe. He asked to speak with her ladyship." Alaric was coolly formal.

Dear faithful Joseph. I was glad that Brendan had been with someone familiar, at least.

"His Grace and I have certain... abilities at our disposal when it comes to establishing guilt and innocence in such cases," Kelson continued, "however Joseph may be able to provide that information without recourse to these measures. Would you be prepared to talk to him and see what you can find out? We would bring no pressure to bear on Joseph, believe me, and would only hear information freely parted with."

I knew the abilities to which he was referring to, of course, and though Alaric kept his face carefully neutral, it crossed my mind that I might tell Kelson my secret, too.

_Should I tell him?_ A mental touch and a quick thought sent mind to mind.

Alaric's face flickered briefly. _It might make things easier. It will show you will be open with him, and you can trust him implicitly._

_Very well._

"Your Majesty, I would like to speak to Joseph. If I could find out from him why Bran did what he did it might make it easier for me to understand, and to explain to Brendan when he is older. I am familiar with the abilities of which you speak, and have access to them myself. I would be willing to use them in your service, sire, if you should bid me do it."

Kelson looked confused for a moment, and then looked from me to Alaric. "My lady..." he paused for a moment – speaking mind to mind with Alaric? – and then asked gently, "Are you Deryni, my lady?"

Was it really less than a day since Father Duncan had asked me the exact same thing? "I am, sire, and willing to use my talents to serve you, as I say."

"Who else knows of this? Morgan, I presume," he raised an eyebrow at the duke, "since despite his legendary self-control I would have expected at least some small reaction to the discovery of a Deryni in our midst, and he has shown not one speck of surprise at your news." He looked curiously at Alaric, then back at me, as if a glimmer of understanding was starting to form in his mind.

"His Grace knows, sire. Father Duncan does also, since I confided in him when Brendan was taken from me. I... heaven forgive me, sire, but I tried to kill Bran with my powers rather than allow him to take my son."

Alaric's self-control failed him then, as he and Kelson exchanged shocked glances at my news. I wondered again who had struck the killing blow – almost certainly one of these two. I guessed another quick mental exchange took place then, the two obviously as used to working together as I was with my family.

"And Bishop Cardiel? Bishop Arilan?"

"They do not, sire, and since the secret was not mine to divulge, but concerns my whole family, I would ask that they not be told yet."

"Of course. Morgan will arrange for you to speak with Joseph. And now, Morgan, I need you to establish which detachment of Torenthis is most ready to be sent home – I want the first lot to disperse through Cardosa tomorrow. If you will excuse us, my lady, we still have much to do before we can all get back to our own beds."

The funeral for Bran and Rhydon was low-key. Their bodies were placed in a grave on a knoll near where they had fallen. Bran's sword was beside him – Alaric had fulfilled that task, I noted. Uncle Thomas said the words necessary to commit them to their maker to face His judgement and no more. No orations and no tears shed, just a couple of men ready to fill the grave when the rituals were complete, and then to mark the spot so that a slab might be laid there later. It was a wildly beautiful spot, with the mountains rearing up behind it and the plain before it, but I couldn't imagine that anyone would come to this place to remember the two who laid here.

No-one came for me that afternoon, and dusk was falling as the outer flap of the tent was drawn back. Casting out, I could sense Alaric's now familiar presence, but he felt troubled to me – even more than he had been the night before – and so desperately tired I wondered how he was still upright.

"I've escaped for a few minutes," he said with a groan, sinking into the camp chair and ruefully regarding his dusty boots and clothes. "Kelson has had me run ragged all day. We are letting the first lot of Torenthis leave tomorrow. We want to stagger their departure, rather than have hundreds of men all on the road at once." He drew his fingers through his hair, leaving him even more unkempt. The day's events had taken their toll on him, it appeared.

I pressed a goblet of wine into his hand. "Have you eaten? Can I send for anything for you?"

"Mouthfuls here and there. I'll eat properly with Kelson and Duncan later. This will keep me going for now." He raised his goblet, and drank deeply. Then he looked up sadly, cool grey eyes meeting mine. "Bran and I had our differences, but I never thought it would come to this. I'm sorry."

Sorry for Bran's death? Or for his part in it? I rested my hand on his arm. "Don't be." I gently touched his mind, sending reassurance through the link. He had to believe whatever had happened didn't change anything, at least for me. "Bran chose his path and it led to his death as surely as if he had met the executioner's blade or the hangman's noose. I don't need to know who struck the killing blow. Maybe someday, but not now."

He drew his fingers across his eyes, using a gesture I recognised as a fatigue-banishing spell and sighed deeply. "I can't stay long, there is still a lot to do, and I want to keep an eye on Duncan."

"How is he?"

"Coping... just." He shook his head sorrowfully. "He is busy, as we all are, and as long as he keeps going he will be fine, I think. But when he stops... I don't know. He is a fraying a little around the edges and when he has time to dwell on what has happened, I think I should be there, just in case. I'm planning on pouring some wine down his throat, letting him talk if he wants to and then knocking him out for the night – I can't see him sleeping much otherwise. I suspect I may do similar for Kelson too."

"So who will help _you_ sleep? I would, but I think being seen coming out of the Duke of Corwyn's tent late at night might cause tongues to wag." I needed to see him smile and my mischievous quip served its purpose as a flicker of a smile crossed his face.

"Better that way than being seen going in but _not_ coming out." Alaric chuckled and refilled his goblet. "I'm planning a quiet evening with a couple of jugs of wine. That should see me right. Nigel might even join me so I don't have to drink alone. I'm sorry, I'd love to come back later, but I think I would be poor company tonight."

"Don't worry." I knew that Duncan was second only to the king in Alaric's loyalties, and that the Deryni priest would be facing his own demons at the moment. And whatever had happened in the warded circle had left its mark on Alaric – he needed to spend time with Kelson and Duncan, talking it through if they needed to, or just being with the other people who had experienced it too.

Someone coughed outside the tent and Alaric cocked his head to one side, sending a mental probe beyond the walls. "It's Duncan," he murmured, "I've been tracked down."

Duncan too wore an air of tired resignation but managed a smile when he saw Alaric. "Kelson's been asking for you and when his squire didn't find you in any of the expected places, I volunteered to look. One advantage of being in on your secret is that I could make a better guess at where you might be hiding than the squire could." He bowed to me. "Excuse me, my lady, I have to drag my wayward cousin back to his duties."

Alaric drained the rest of his wine and dragged himself to his feet. He gave a last regretful glance at the chair and the jug of wine, and squared his shoulders. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Of course." _Look after Kelson and Duncan tonight, but try to remember to look after yourself too._

_I will._

Father Duncan watched us with a smile playing about his lips – could he tell that mindspeech was passing between us? "I should have known after ten years or more of waiting for Alaric to fall for someone, that when he did it would be fast and in unusual circumstances." His eyes twinkled with mirth, then he turned to Alaric. "I'll be off back to the King's tent, then. Don't take too long about following me." It seemed we could count on him to be discreet.

After he had left, Alaric took my hand and asked, "Did the King tell you of his plans for the regency council?"

"He did and he is being most generous, but I still can't help worrying that he may change his mind – decide I would be safer to him in a convent and Brendan fostered to some loyal house." I gripped Alaric's hand with an anxiety born of fear for my son and his future. "If that should happen, swear to me that you will take Brendan, teach him what you know of Deryni ways and raise him faithful to the king – help him restore some honour to the name of Coris."

"I swear it. Brendan will come to Coroth if needs be. But I also swear to you that the King will keep his word and that you are worrying yourself unnecessarily." He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, a glint of amusement in his grey eyes. "And now I must go, or that selfsame King will be sending Duncan out with an armed guard to bring me back." A brush of his lips to my forehead, and he pushed through the tent flap to follow his cousin.


	22. Chapter 22

**July 3rd - ****Llyndruth Plain**

I was brought to see Joseph in a tent on the outside of the camp. A guard stayed discreetly by the opening, for which I was grateful, as I found myself strangely nervous of him. If Alaric's faithful Derry had helped to steal Brendan away, what might Joseph do? And then my heart fluttered - hadn't Alaric said that Joseph had asked to see me? What if Bran, fearing that the game was up, had left a similar compulsion in Joseph's mind? Had Bran primed Joseph to kill me after my attempt on his life in Kelson's tent?

I glanced over my shoulder to where the guard stood, rigidly alert and watching us intently. Far enough away not to overhear our conversation but close enough to save me if it came to it – I hoped. I wished for a moment that Alaric could have accompanied me - I would have felt safer with him here - but I knew that being alone with me would help Joseph to speak more freely.

He stood as I entered, and bowed. "My lady." His appearance shocked me. He had aged years since I had last seen him, that day at Stonelyn. He looked pale and gaunt, and his face was like a death mask, thin and lined.

I sat, and bade him do the same. I had never truth-read Joseph before but that was my mission today – to answer all the questions I had about Bran's defection to Wencit, and to help Kelson in any way I could by bringing him the information that he needed about Bran's commanders.

All my questions ran through my head – about Bran, about the massacre – but the only thing that I could say was, "Are you well? Are they treating you all right?"

"Aye, my lady, we are getting our regular campaign rations. We can move about within our camp, but not go beyond it. The king is not making being disgraced prisoners too burdensome." His eyes dropped at those words, and I felt his shame as if it were my own. Truly these men _had_ followed Bran into Hell, but why had he led them there?

"What happened, Joseph? Why did Lord Bran do this? What made him break his oath?" My voice cracked at the end, and he flinched at the sound of it.

"I don't have all the answers, my lady, and as God is my witness I have asked myself those questions over and over. But I can tell you what happened, as near as I can remember and maybe you can make your own mind up."

He collected his thoughts a moment, and told me of Wencit sending a parley down from Cardosa, and Bran going to meet with him. He spoke of hostages and sleeping draughts and a good many more things besides. When Bran came back, said Joseph, he claimed to have Deryni powers and that Wencit had promised him a dukedom. I could guess which duchy Bran had designs on – it would have given him great satisfaction to be the next Duke of Corwyn – although I found it ironic that after his all his ranting he had bragged of Deryni magic. It seemed that he craved power, wealth and influence, regardless of their source.

"Could Wencit have used magic to enslave him?"

"Well, my lady, I don't rightly know how you would tell that. He seemed just like Lord Bran in most ways, yet..." he searched for the words, "...harder, more ambitious, though he had always been ambitious, even as a lad. He showed a ruthless streak to him that I hadn't seen before, as if he would stop at naught to get what he had been promised."

So far he spoke truth, or at least what he believed to be the truth. "And the men? Did they follow him willingly, this new ruthless master of theirs?"

"At first, my lady, yes. We had sat there for weeks by then, with the tension mounting and the men muttering about why the Claibourne army was sitting so far north, when everything pointed to Wencit coming straight down the Cardosa pass at us. The men believed that Wencit and his men would walk right over us – that we had no hope of holding out against them. Despite whatever Lord Bran and the commanders could say to encourage them, talking of defending Gwynedd and protecting our homes and our families, his army was defeated already. They would still follow him, for sure, for love of him and pride in Marley, but without much hope of seeing those homes again. They set their minds at ease by saying that they had sworn their oaths to Lord Bran and were duty-bound to follow wherever he led, but the truth is that they were scared half out of their wits."

Even a week earlier I would not have understood the feelings of which Joseph spoke, but having sat and watched Kelson and his friends ride out across the plain to meet Wencit, I had an inkling of what it must have been like. I had felt sick, wondering if death would come to all of us that day, if I would ever see my father and brothers again and what sort of country I would live in if Brendan and I had been spared and Wencit ruled in Gwynedd.

"So they joined Wencit willingly because they stood more chance of being on the winning side, then?" I asked, wondering at the fickleness that would make them desert their country in its greatest need.

"Not _willingly_, my lady, but the uncertainty and the anxiety had been relieved somewhat ." His forehead furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand, and I was there, but I felt it myself – a relief that the waiting was over and that things would be decided one way or the other soon. Do you see?"

I couldn't honestly say that I did, but he told the truth, and I could see in his face what this honesty cost him, for he had loved Bran dearly.

"And when you came upon the men of Cassan and Kierney, what then?"

The grief that crossed his face then made me want to weep for him. "That was badly done. They say that in war all is fair, but to disguise our intent like that, and to fall upon our countrymen... Ah, my lady, how could Lord Bran do such a thing?" He hovered on the brink of tears, and sat with his head bowed. He covered his face with shaking hands and drew in a shuddering breath.

"You have to believe me, my lady, when I say that many of the Marley men cried even as they fought. They would still follow Lord Bran, but he lost their respect that day. They followed because they had sworn an oath and they would not break theirs even if he had broken his."

So the common men had not been behind him, then. Kelson would be glad of that at least.

"Then when it came to... dispose... of the bodies..." his voice trembled and he looked at me with despair in his eyes, biting his lip to stop the tears. "My lady, I can't speak of what they did to you, but do you know?"

The pungent smell of wood smoke and death seemed to fill my nostrils again. "I didn't see it myself, but I heard about it. And I saw the funeral pyres as we went past."

"We knew you were coming when we saw the smoke from the pyres. At least they were decently dealt with and not just left for the birds and wild animals." He shuddered. I remembered the birds circling the plain and was relieved that we had taken time to do this last service for these men.

"Was it Bran that suggested... the mutilation of the bodies?" God help me, but I had to know this.

He froze, desperately not wanting to tell me that my husband had been capable of such an atrocity, and finally mumbled "Aye, my lady".

I had known deep down inside that it had been him. That he had called on some submerged darkness in him in his eagerness to show his worth to Wencit.

Joseph shuffled and looked at his feet. "Lord Bran ordered the Marley men to see to the bodies – setting them up for King Kelson to find. Not a man of them was comfortable doing it, and many did what they did with tears streaming down their cheeks. I saw several good men take themselves a distance away to spew in the bushes. But they were afraid, my lady. Lord Bran had been so well loved, and they would have done anything for him, but through devotion and loyalty. Now they were afraid of what he or his Deryni friends might do to them. Some of them had heard that Deryni could take your mind away – leave you alive but senseless - and they feared him terribly.

"Two of the men, devout men both, would have nothing to do with the desecration of the bodies. They flatly refused, though their lives would be forfeit. Lord Bran heard of it, and ran the one man through with his sword. The other tried to run, but guards brought him back and Lord Bran spitted him too."

"Who were the men? Did I know them?"

"Eoin Donnelly and William Chawston, my lady. Eoin was son of one of the maltsters from Marbury. He had just married this winter past, and his wife is expecting their first child around Christmastide. He was so excited – he spoke of little else. And William was one of Lord Bran's regular soldiers. He had a wife and three children, the youngest only a year or so old." He choked back a sob, trying to cover it with a cough. "They were good men, my lady, and he cut them down in cold blood for refusing to do what no good man should be asked to do."

"Did he have the men behind him still, or was he alone in following Wencit?"

He hesitated. "I was not present for all of Lord Bran's conversations, yet sometimes a trusted clerk may remain in meetings unnoticed. I saw him with his commanders and listened to their conversations." He observed me cautiously, eyes still brimming and his emotions barely in check. "They went along with him, my lady, through loyalty and through fear and maybe in some small part in hopes of reward in the end, yet I would say that the excesses were Lord Bran's idea and came from his mind alone."

"Thank you, Joseph. I can't say that you have told me what I wanted to hear, but I understand a little better now, and when Brendan asks about his father when he is older, I will know the truth of it, not rumour and gossip."

"What will happen to you and the young master now, my lady?"

I could give him good news on this at least. "Tell the men that a Coris will still be Earl of Marley, Joseph. The king has been most generous and has promised that Brendan will be confirmed as earl, with a regency council ruling for him until he can assume his title. I shall be heading the council on his behalf."

Joseph beamed. "That is good to hear indeed, and the men will be heartened by it." He sighed and looked entreatingly at me. "Will we be allowed to return home, my lady? The men want to try to put this behind them and to see their wives and children."

"I am sure that Lord Bran's commanders will be spoken to and dealt with appropriately, but the King has guaranteed the safety of the others. And I shall ask the King to provide for the families of Chawston and Donnelly. It would not be right that their wives and children suffer hardship because of their bravery."

When I left the tent, Joseph seemed restored, at least in part. His head was held higher than before and he could meet my eyes as I bade him farewell. A hint, only, but hope at least that pride could be restored to Marley – though who knew how long would it take?


	23. Chapter 23

**July 3rd - ****Llyndruth Plain**

I left the tent pondering what Joseph had told me. A lot of what he had said about Bran was no surprise to me – I had suspected as much. I had seen a ruthless streak in Bran on occasion during our marriage and although I had wanted to think better of him, I could well believe that he had taken an active part in what had happened. Joseph had been unable to say whether he thought that Wencit could have used magic on Bran to make him act this way – some small glimmer of hope that I could cling to. A faint chance that he had not lost his humanity entirely in the past few weeks.

I returned to my tent to find a letter waiting from my uncle. He asked that I be ready to leave the following day, with the first company of the ecclesiastical army to return to Dhassa. That too was no surprise, but I would be strangely sad to leave. I missed the comforts of the manor, or even of the quarters in Dhassa, and Brendan was increasingly hard to entertain chafing as he was under the restrictions placed on him in camp, but Alaric was here, and I had no idea when we would meet again.

Sister Luke and Brendan returned shortly after, the good sister flustered and upset. Brendan was protesting at being brought back early, but seemed fine otherwise, so I was anxious to find out what had caused Sister Luke's distress.

"Brendan, go through and play with your toys a moment, will you? I'll be there to play with you in a moment, and if you're a very good boy I may be able to find a treat for you."

"Oh, my lady," said Sister Luke when he was safely out of earshot. "I never thought they would take it out on a child, and while I was looking after him, too." Her voice turned to a sob and she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

My heart plummeted – was this the start of what I had dreaded? I had hoped so much that we could get safely home to Rheljan, or even Marley, without Brendan being aware of what had happened.

"It was one of the soldiers, my lady. I suppose most everyone knows now that you and young Master Brendan are here, so it doesn't take much working out to know who a small boy in the camp must be." She blinked away more tears and took the offered seat.

I sat beside her. "What happened?"

"Some soldiers were talking – I couldn't hear what they were saying, but they looked at the young master when they said it. Then as we passed them, one said 'You mark my word, bad blood will out,' and spat on the ground."

My poor boy – damned already in so many men's eyes by who had fathered him. I realised that if I couldn't protect him from an idle word – even here amongst my uncle's army –there was a good chance that he would overhear something worse before we were safely home. I was just glad the soldier hadn't referred outright to his father. But I felt my hand had been forced and I had to tell him at least some of what had happened before I was ready to do so.

Brendan was playing happily with his toys when I went through to the inner tent. I had found him the sweetmeat I had promised him – treats were few and far between, in this camp full of soldiers, but were still available if one knew where to look. I watched him play for a moment, his golden hair flopping down into his eyes and being brushed away with an impatient gesture that had been one of Bran's, then braced myself to destroy his little world.

ooooooooo

I was sitting by Brendan's bed when Sister Luke announced Alaric's arrival that evening. I had finally got Brendan settled and was stroking his hair as the redness slowly faded from his cheeks and eyes – he had cried bitterly when I told him his papa was never coming home. I had stayed strong for his sake, refusing to cry despite my anguish at my child's pain. I had to be both parents to him now, and show him the strength that Bran would have taught him. He had some idea of the concept of "never". He knew he never saw Rhiannon now, but his memory of his sister faded from day to day, where his memory of Bran was still fresh and strong. It would go hard on him, this loss of his father.

When in the past he had been troubled by childish nightmares I had always given him something of mine to hold, and the scent of me seemed to help him sleep more soundly. Tonight I had given him the soft veil from my hair and he rubbed it against his face, being comforted by the silky smoothness and sniffing the lavender oil with which I often fragranced my belongings. He had fallen asleep so, with the veil clutched in one hand pressed against his cheek and the other hand flung up beside him on the pillow.

Alaric took in the situation at a glance – the red-rimmed eyes and the tear streaks on Brendan's face. He came to stand at my shoulder and offered a hand, which I took gratefully. Just that small act of comfort was a help.

We stood in silence, looking down at my fatherless boy. Then I said, "He will forget him, you know. He's only four. I scarcely remember anything from when I was that young – vague impressions, maybe, but nothing really clear. He will have to cope with people hating and mistrusting him because of a father whose face he cannot even call to mind."

Alaric said nothing. I suppose nothing he could have said then would have been fitting. But he drew me to him, until my head was resting on his shoulder and his hand was on my back. And then the tears came. I had held them back for Brendan's sake but the dam finally broke, there in his arms.

All of it - Bran's death, Rhiannon's birthday, trying to find the words to explain to Brendan, our return to Dhassa on the morrow and my fear for the future the Brendan and I now faced - it all poured out into those bitter tears that I shed on Alaric's chest. His arms crept around me to hold me closer, and his lips gently kissed my hair.

Ah, Jesú! Brendan still clutched the veil I had been wearing, and my hair was unbound.

Alaric noticed my reaction and put a finger to my lips to hush me, his eyes filled with amusement. "It's beautiful." He stroked one golden curl that was framing my face and tucked it gently behind my ear. "Leave it. There's only Sister Luke and me to see and she has turned a blind eye to other things that have been...unconventional ."

So he held me tightly and stroked my hair before leaving to sit in the outer tent while I composed myself, splashing my face with cold water to wash away the tears and calm the redness of my eyes.

Sister Luke had set out wine, and he was sipping thoughtfully at his when I returned.

"I hear Cardiel is starting to move his men out tomorrow."

I nodded. "And Brendan and I go with the first company. We will stay in Dhassa until my uncle returns, and then I mean to go to Rheljan for a time. I think Brendan needs family around him before going back to Marley and the memories of Bran. At least his grandfather and his uncles will help me distract him, and he has always loved Murdo. Maybe Murdo can take Bran's place, somewhat."

"The King and I will see you off, of course."

That gnawing pain in my chest. I was leaving him. After tomorrow, when would I see him again?

"What have you told the King about..." About what? Us? Could I assume there was an "us", even after the past few days? "...about our meetings?"

"Nothing outright, but I've dropped a few hints." There was a hint of mischief in his smile, strangely incongruous with his courtly manner. "From the questions Kelson is asking me, I think he has his suspicions – maybe he can't quite believe that someone has finally won the heart of the bachelor Duke of Corwyn!"

"Have I really won your heart?"

"Can you doubt it? I grin like a lovestruck boy every time I think of you. It's quite embarrassing, actually." He laughed outright at that, eyes glittering in the candlelight. I loved the sound of his laughter – there had been precious little to laugh at these past few days.

"I spoke to Joseph earlier. I think Kelson would be interested in some of what he had to say."

"Hmmm?"

"Should I show you? Would it be easier?"

Alaric looked intently at me. "Are you sure you want to show me? You could show Kelson yourself, you know, before you leave in the morning."

I wasn't ready to link with the King yet, only just getting used to sharing with someone beyond my family, and it would be less painful to show than to tell. I held out my hand and in a heartbeat or two we had slipped into rapport.

He let out a shocked gasp as we broke the link, releasing hands as we did so. The true depth of Bran's treachery had shaken even him. There was pain in his face as he looked at me and grasped my hand again, fervently. "Indeed the families of Donnelly and Chawston _will_ be taken care of. They were brave men."

"And the others? Bran's commanders?"

"It's up to Kelson, but I would imagine they would be allowed to live, though I'd imagine they will be closely watched from now on. Kelson will almost certainly require their oaths from them and he will truth read them, of course. I think he is of a mind to be as merciful as he can, while not leaving vipers' nests in Marley."

I was glad. I had feared wholesale executions of Bran's friends, and returning to a Marley in fear of further retribution from the crown.

As if he caught some hint of my thoughts, Alaric said, "It is likely that Kelson will order higher taxes on Marley for a time, to help compensate Cassan and Kierney for the losses they have suffered. Many families there will struggle to cope now, with fathers and sons gone."

"I know. Marley is fortunate that it comes out of this with its menfolk intact, bar a few. It is right that we should put right what has been done. We will manage, and I will have the regency council to assist me, in due course."

"The regency council may take some months to set up. Such things are never decided upon swiftly." He stood and held his arms out to me and I went to him gladly. "You must be brave, my dear. This will be hard on you, and on Brendan, but I promise you it will be all right in the end. I don't know how, or what may happen in the meantime, but you _will_ come through this. You are so strong – stronger than any woman I have ever met, save my mother, I think. Any woman who will fight to keep her child as you did, even against her own husband, has an inner strength that many would struggle to find. There will be days when you wonder if you can cope, but you will. And Kelson will support you."

I had not missed the reference to my attack on Bran. He could accept it, then. Maybe even understand it a little. "I'm not sure I can do this alone."

"I know." He drew back a little, his hands on my shoulders, and looked earnestly into my eyes. "Dearest, I intend to suggest to Kelson that he appoint Lord Derry to help you in Marley."

My last image of Lord Derry had been of him pressing his hand over my mouth while my son was wrenched away from me. How could Alaric even _think_ that this was a good idea?

Some part of my horror must have communicated itself to him. "That was not done willingly, I assure you. Let me show you." He held his hand out to me, and sent an image of him plunging into Derry's mind – finding Wencit's magic there and releasing his friend from its thrall. I caught the nature of the compulsion, some small hint of what Derry had endured in captivity and his anguish when he realised what he had done, and shuddered. This was Deryni magic at its worst – forcing people to act against their natures and to the detriment of others. I had to accept that Lord Derry would never have acted so, without this duress being put upon him, and wondered again whether magic had played its part in my husband's defection.

"I would trust him with my life. He knows what he did and is distraught. This would give him a way to prove himself to you. He is desperate to redeem himself in your eyes."

I was trembling as I gave a short nod. Trust would be difficult for me in that quarter, but Alaric must have his reasons for the suggestion and _him_ I trusted implicitly.

"Ah, I must go. I have a company of Torenthi soldiers to see on the road tomorrow and Kelson will wish to know this information from Joseph. Did he tell you that he is putting Saer de Traherne in charge of getting them home? He is a good man, Saer. Brother of Duchess Meraude, and Earl of Rhendall for nearly three years now. When do you leave?"

"Early. As soon as we may – I think my uncle means us to be back at Dhassa by nightfall." My eyes brimmed with tears again. Alaric took my face in his hands and kissed me, and the hurt and the fear fell away like a cloak shed on the ground. All I could think of was him, and us, and the feeling of him close to me. I had never felt like this with Bran. Maybe the Andelonian poets had got it right after all. I breathed him in – leather and wood smoke – and tried to commit every last part of him to memory, that I might remember this moment always.


	24. Chapter 24

**July 4th - ****Llyndruth Plain**

"Now are you certain you have everything that you need?" asked my uncle, as he held out an arm to assist me into the litter. Brendan and Sister Luke were already settled in theirs.

"Yes, thank you, uncle," I replied, "We shall be perfectly fine. Please don't worry."

"I shall be back in Dhassa in two or three day's time, I expect. Will you still be there when I arrive?"

"I don't intend to leave for Rheljan before the end of the week. I want to send ahead to my father, rather than just turning up on his doorstep, and I don't know how much he will have heard about what has happened. Better that he gets used to the idea of his daughter being a traitor's widow gently, I think."

"Ah, my dear, what I wouldn't give to have had things turn out differently." Uncle Thomas squeezed my hand compassionately, and I lowered my eyes. I couldn't meet his, as in truth _would_ I rather things had turned out differently? I would be returning to the north as Bran's wife rather than his widow and with the image of Alaric Morgan fixed in my memory.

"Thank you, uncle. It is tragic for Brendan that all this has happened, and he will be a long time getting over it, if he ever does completely." There, I hoped that sounded the right note of regret, while not actually saying that I grieved over Bran's passing. It wouldn't do to lie to one's uncle, especially when that uncle happens to be a bishop, but I wondered if he understood what I said. Surely he must have realised that there was little love between Bran and me.

Over my uncle's shoulder, I could see the King and Alaric emerge from Kelson's pavilion, the scarlet of the King's tunic making a splash of colour on a misty morning. Alaric was carrying a bundle wrapped in fabric and he and Kelson were talking earnestly, carrying on a conversation they had been having in the tent.

"We shall talk more of this later," Kelson was saying as he reached the litter, and he and Alaric both bent to kiss my uncle's ring.

Kelson bowed slightly to me, while Alaric hung back, leaving the King and me to speak alone.

"My Lady Richenda, I trust all your travel arrangements are in order?" said Kelson. "Your uncle has been most insistent that all possible attention should be paid to your comfort," he smiled, "and you know that bishops have a habit of getting their own way."

Uncle Thomas chuckled. "I have become very fond of my great-niece and her son over the past few months, sire. Surely an uncle is allowed to indulge his favourite niece?"

"I wish you a pleasant journey to Dhassa and onwards to your home," said Kelson. "Duke Alaric has some possessions of your husband's that he thought you should have, so I shall leave him to give those to you. Bishop Cardiel, would you attend me, please?" He bowed slightly again and turned on his heels, my uncle giving me a last farewell before following him to his pavilion. The meaningful look that Kelson gave Alaric left me in no doubt.

_He knows, doesn't he?_

_He finally worked it out. And I've just been read a lecture on politically sensitive matches._ I stared at him in alarm. It had not occurred to me that the King would forbid our relationship, although of course he could. _Don't worry, my love, he was joking - mostly. But we are quite scandalous, you know._ His eyes glittered with amusement as they met mine.

"Lady Richenda, as you requested, here is your husband's dagger." He ducked a quick bow as he spoke – outwardly the proper courtier. "And a few other bits I thought you might not want servants poking through. I'll have the rest packed up and sent on to Marley." His lips twitched in a brief smile. _And there's something for you in there too._

Something for me? Heavens, and I had nothing for him! I had been so wrapped up in everything it hadn't even crossed my mind to send him away with a keepsake. I frantically thought what I could give him – all my belongings were in the boxes in the wagon and I didn't even have any jewellery on me, not even a hairpin.

My mind flashed back to how he had stroked my hair the previous night, and how much he had admired it. On an impulse I reached up and loosened the scarf that bound my hair, shaking it free and letting the waves tumble around my face. There would be plenty of time on the journey to attempt a serviceable braid and no-one in the litter to see my indecently flowing curls. I could wear my the hood of my cloak up in Dhassa until I was safely inside, just in case.

"And this is a little something for you, my lord," I smiled, "until we meet again."

"Which please God will not be too long," he murmured fervently, pressing the scarf to his face, and shifting slightly to block the view of me from prying eyes. "Ah, it smells of you. Lavender and rosemary. The scent may fade, my lady, but the memory will not." He tucked the scarf inside his tunic and bowed. I offered my hand and he kissed it, courtier-like and formal, but his eyes met mine as he did so, and he sent a mental caress which raised shivers from my head to my toes and set my heart to pounding again. "This will have to last me for now. But I shall write, after your mourning is over, and as often as I can."

The lead rider gave the command to set out and we drew away from the camp. Alaric stared intently after us, the edge of the scarf just visible as it peeped out of his tunic.

He stood watching us depart until a squire in Haldane red emerged from the pavilion and came to speak to him. Alaric nodded and turned reluctantly to follow the squire. I watched until he ducked inside the King's tent, sending one last wistful look towards our departing company, and then disappeared from sight.

With a sigh, I unfolded the bundle. Tucked inside the fabric I found a letter, neatly secured with Alaric's gryphon seal, and set that aside for the moment. Bran's dagger was sheathed in a well-worn scabbard and Alaric had returned a few personal effects too – a ring, a chain Bran had often worn about his neck and a few letters tied with a ribbon, one of them the last one I had sent him from Dhassa, I noticed, although I doubted there was any sentimental reason why Bran had kept it. I wrapped the items back up carefully and picked up Alaric's letter.

I ran my fingers over the seal, extending my senses and getting an impression of such love and tenderness that it felt as though his arms enfolded me there and then, assuring me that all would be well. I could have sworn I could smell leather and wood smoke – the scents I had come to associate with him from right back at our first meeting at Saint Torin's. It seemed that his smile, his warmth and his strength had flowed into this splash of sealing wax, ready to pour out when I touched it. The final impression was a hint of regret at our parting and a gentle guarantee of our reunion soon. That on its own would have been enough to satisfy me without the words inside and I touched the seal to my lips.

What magic was this? A second message, triggered by the kiss? Without the constraints of formal tutoring, Alaric seemed to have experimented, explored in a way that those of us raised in the High Deryni tradition maybe did not. How to place a second message in a seal – perhaps known to others if not to me, but an ability that meant the world to me today.

That second message was a twinkle in his eye as he kissed the seal himself to set the magic. A rueful thought that I might not find it, yet a near certainty in his mind that I would and amusement at what my reaction would be. Jesú, but I loved him, and the playfulness as he used his magic was a contrast to the exhausted and troubled man that I had seen over the past few days. We needed to get to know each other properly, away from the stresses of the battlefield and the aftermath of combat and this glimpse of a peaceful Alaric made a start. I wondered where and when we would meet again, and prayed that he would still feel the same – that some other woman without the burden of treachery hanging over her would not catch his eye before then.

The words on the parchment were written in a strong, precise script, exactly as I would have expected his handwriting to be. As I read, tears started in my eyes – never in all the years of marriage to Bran had I received anything that I could remotely call a love letter. His had been terse, functional letters for the most part, conveying the information that needed to be told. Here in my hand lay a letter from another soldier, no longer than it needed to be, yet its words spoke directly to my heart.

_My dearest Richenda,_

_Since I first saw you at Saint Torin's these months past, you have haunted my dreams. Although I had scarce any hope of discovering your identity, let alone finding you, you all unknowingly captured my heart. I knew that no-one would match the ideal of my mystery woman, and all others would be compared to you and be found wanting. _

_Now that I have found you, and you have let me dare hope that you may be mine someday, my dreams will be more restless still until we can be together again. Until that time, know that you have all my love. _

_Alaric._

And in a postscript he wrote _Kelson knows, and says to assure you that he will keep faith with you, so banish those worries of convents and fostering from your mind. I think he fancies himself quite the matchmaker, so I impatiently await his plans to bring us together. AM_

ooooooooo

Don't ask me how many times I read the letter on the way to Dhassa, or how many times I pressed the seal to my lips to hear Alaric's quick laugh in my head, for I would be ashamed to admit it. Even after Brendan came to ride with me, I kept the letter under my hand, some irrational fear that it would somehow be lost making me keep it close.

We talked for a long time when he rode with me, remembering his father without tears this time. I shall talk to him about Bran and try to remember the good times, for my son's sake. It would not be right that he should completely forget his father, whatever he may have done. As for me, I will remember Bran with fondness so far as I can, for he gave me my son and without him Brendan would not be the little boy I adore.

Alaric has proved to be a good and faithful letter-writer. Yet even now, when my secret trove of letters grows large enough that it really needs a longer ribbon to bind it, I still return to that first letter when I miss him, which is often. After each reading, I touch the seal and I can see sparkling grey eyes and hear his gentle laugh.

And I swear I can smell leather and wood smoke.


End file.
